A Boy, A Girl, & A Dog: The Leithian Script
by Philosopher At Large
Summary: The Deed of Beren & Luthien (& Huan) retold in the vernacular w/apologies to Messrs Shakespeare & Tolkien. 8/10Act IV.V.xx
1. Act I An Appointment in Menegroth: The T...

An illustrated version may be found at   
~Odd Lots~ 

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_This is dedicated with the utmost affection and respect_   
_to the authors of The Comedy of Errors and Farmer Giles of Ham,_   
_and with infinite gratitude._   


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**THE THRONE-ROOM SCENE OF THE LAY OF LEITHIAN******

**retold in the vernacular as a dramatic script**   
**(with apologies to Messrs. Tolkien & Shakespeare)**

  
  
  


**Dramatis Personae & Cast, in order of appearance**   
[this is how I'd cast them - you're free to supply your own actors, of course.] 

** The Human Bard Gower (appearing courtesy of The Rose Playhouse)**   
Derek Jacobi (appearing courtesy Henry V) 

** Luthien aka Tinuviel, Princess of Doriath**   
Claudia Black (appearing courtesy Farscape) 

** Elu Thingol, King of Doriath**   
Jeremy Irons (appearing courtesy Brideshead Revisited) 

** Melian the Maia, Queen of Doriath**   
Emma Thompson (appearing courtesy Sense & Sensibility) 

** Beren Barahirson, Human Warrior**   
Christian Bale (appearing courtesy Treasure Island, Little Women) 

** Mablung, Captain of Doriath**   
Ronald Colman (appearing courtesy The Prisoner of Zenda) 

** Beleg Cuthalion, Elven Ranger**   
David Niven (appearing courtesy The Prisoner of Zenda) 

** Daeron the Bard, Elven Flautist**   
Lani John Tupu (appearing courtesy Farscape) 

** Citizenry of Doriath **(**nonspeaking parts)**   
as themselves (appearing courtesy of Mandos) 

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**SCENE I**

**Gower:**   
Now   
envision wide upon this meager screen,   
the lofty arches of deep Doriath,   
where Elu Thingol, gray King of Elves   
and Melian the Wise his wife   
whose birth precedes the eldest stars,   
hold high court before their host.   
--Let thy mind   
make of our panel white and keystrokes black   
Shining caverns, enlumened all with bright   
lamps of white gems all fashioned fair   
upheld by dragons carved and gilt,   
and water flowing o'er the stone   
like to a grotto fashioned of the gods   
where birds do sing beneath no sun --   
Here,   
into the shade of the holy trees   
Luthien Tinuviel doth lead her love,   
Beren the wanderer from out the woods,   
before her mother musing and infuriate sire   
before the assemblage of her friends and kin   
and doubtful Daeron that betray'd of love . . . 

**Luthien:**   
Mom, Dad -- this is my fiance, Beren. 

**Thingol:**   
Well, well, well. So you're the fellow who's been camping in my woods   
this past year. How did you get past the security system? 

**Beren:**   
Um?   
[distracted by the spears/crowd/nightingales/jewels/waterfall/trees/Melian]   
How . . .? I, er, just, erm, kept walking, and . . . then I was here. 

**Thingol: **[thinking]   
--Yeah, right.   
[aloud]   
So, --Beren, is it? --what do you do for a living? 

**Beren:**   
Orcs. Um. I, uh, I hunt them. Sir. [winces] 

**Thingol:**   
Really. And do you foresee a long-term career in this . . . admirable   
venture of yours? 

**Beren: **[desperate flippancy]   
Well, I expect I'll be doing it the rest of my life. 

**Thingol:** [not amused]   
And this should impress me why? 

**Beren:**   
Well, my dad was a good friend of the King of Nargothrond,   
saved his life at the Siege of Angband, and they say I take   
after Da -- I might be useful to have around, is all I'm saying. 

**Thingol: **[biting sarcasm]   
In case you hadn't noticed, this isn't Nargothrond -- or do I look   
like Finrod Felagund to you? 

**Beren:**   
I, I don't know, sir; I've never met King Finrod -- 

**Thingol: **[forced patience]   
--That was a rhetorical question, boy. I'm saying I don't care   
who your friends-and-relations are, I want to know what you   
have to offer my daughter. I didn't raise Luthien to be a beggar   
or a gangster's moll -- I expect her to take over the administration   
of Doriath after me. We have lots of people who can kill Orcs,   
and with eons more experience than you've got, so I don't really   
see a place for your talents in our organization. 

**Beren:**   
Well, my parents ran a realm too, not as big as this, but nevertheless -- 

**Thingol:** [losing it]   
Silence! Impertinent puppy! Can you give me one good reason why   
I shouldn't throw you into the labyrinth and delete the key? Do   
you really expect me to believe that you've just been taking music   
lessons from my daughter in the forest? I should chop you into   
pieces and chop the pieces into pieces! --unfortunately, you'd miss   
most of it --   


**Beren: **[nervously]   
Um, I know this isn't the best time to remind you, but Tinuviel   
did say you'd promised me a safe conduct . . . 

[pause] 

**Thingol: **[lethally]   
Who's Tinuviel? 

**Beren:**   
. . . 

**Luthien: **[exasperated]   
It's my nickname, Daddy. Like yours is Thingol. Because of my singing.   
And you did promise. In front of witnesses. 

**Thingol: **[raising voice]   
--but as I was about to say, I stupidly promised her that I wouldn't   
kill or maim you (I can't think why, all she does is look at me and   
I give her whatever she asks for) but that doesn't mean I can't find   
other ways to keep you from getting at her, you empty-handed vagabond-- 

**Melian: **[mindspeech]   
Ahem. Elu. 

**Thingol: **[mindspeech]   
--Yes, dear? 

**Melian: **[mindspeech]   
The good news is -- that he isn't a brainwashed slave sent here by   
our Enemy to assassinate you, kidnap Luthien or corrupt Doriath. 

**Thingol: **[mindspeech]   
Hmph. What's the bad? 

**Melian: **[mindspeech]   
That he isn't a brainwashed slave sent here by our Enemy to   
assassinate you, kidnap Luthien or corrupt Doriath. 

**Thingol:**   
!?. . . !? 

**Melian: **[mindspeech]   
He's just a boy who's fallen in love with a stranger   
he met in the woods. 

[longish pause] 

**Thingol: **[mindspeech]   
--It was different for us... 

**Melian:** [mindspeech, sighing]   
It's always different... 

[Simultaneous w/previous exchange: Enter the two chief warriors of Doriath.] 

**Beleg:**   
All right, all right, what's all the fuss? 

**Mablung:**   
Daeron, old boy! Fill us in! 

[Daeron gives a guilty start and almost drops his flute] 

**Daeron:**   
Erm. Hullo, chaps. It's that Man you were all out looking for.   
He just turned up. --How did he get past you? 

**Beleg:**   
How indeed? We figured he'd jumped the gate and made   
a run for it. Done a bunk, as it were. 

**Mablung:**   
Right. When was the last time anyone got past us, Strongbow? 

**Beleg: **[thinking]   
Mm, seventy-four years ago. That wolf light-cavalry unit down the   
cliffs on the other side. Didn't get far, though. 

**Mablung:**   
You sure it's been that long? 

**Beleg:**   
Sure I'm sure. 

**Mablung:**   
I don't remember all of that -- I think you've got an extra   
decade in there. 

**Beleg:**   
No, that was the winter before the winter that the borders   
got four cubits of snow and five of those things with six legs   
and two heads. 

**Mablung:**   
Anybody know what those things are? What are they called,   
anyway? Daeron? 

[Daeron gives a guilty start] 

You're the bard around here -- don't you know? 

**Beleg:**   
What's wrong with 'those things with six legs and two heads?'   
or better yet, 'those dead things with six legs and two heads' --? 

[Melian gives them a Look, and they quiet down. The conversation   
regarding a suitable dowry is just concluding.] 

**Beren:**   
So, if I brought back all three of them, and you had three   
daughters, would you let me marry all of them? --Just curious,   
sounds like a real bargain on elf-princesses-- 

**Luthien: **[stage whisper]   
Beren! Shush! I don't know how long it would take me to get   
you out of the labyrinth -- it might take a hundred years! 

[Beren hushes up.] 

**SCENE II**

**Gower:**   
Now   
let us turn aside from counsels of the great   
and cast our thoughts upon the parting of the twain   
whose love enduring should downcast   
the powers of earth and e'en the gods . . . 

[The hall before the main gates. Beren is pacing and ranting in   
nervous aftershock; Luthien holds his hand, anchoring him, compass-like] 

**Beren:**   
I had it all planned out. I was going to say --   
'I've been engaged in a systematic program of destabilization   
targeted at the most vulnerable areas of Morgoth's regime,   
combined with a low-impact lifestyle which honors traditional   
Telerin folkways and combines high efficiency with respect   
for Arda.' That would have sounded halfway intelligent.   
And I completely lost it. I must have been hyperventilating:   
I thought there was this -- glowing light around your mother. 

**Luthien:**   
You could see that? Most people don't notice. 

**Beren:**   
Y--your mom glows. --Why? 

**Luthien:**   
It's only when she's using her Power. She doesn't try to show   
off or act like she's different from Eldar, really. 

**Beren: **[confused]   
You're an Elf -- but she isn't? 

**Luthien: **[surprised]   
She's Maiar. Doesn't everyone know that? 

**Beren:**   
! . . . !   
[shaking his head]   
I thought it was bad enough learning your father's the king -- now   
I find out your mother's a goddess --!   
[starting to hyperventilate] 

**Luthien:**   
It's okay. I think she likes you. The fact that you got past her Maze   
without going mad means you're Good. --I pointed that out to my father. 

**Beren:**   
I'm afraid it didn't convince him. 

**Luthien:**   
He really isn't like this. Well, he is sort of paranoid -- but he does have   
reasons for that. Given that people keep ambushing and betraying and trying   
to destroy us -- and those are our relatives, not the Dark Lord's minions. 

**Beren: **[starting to rant again]   
He doesn't think I have a chance -- but I can do it. I made it through the   
borders; I can sneak into Angband. Frontal assault didn't work because it's   
too obvious. Well, and the Dragon and the Balrogs and the being outnumbered   
part of it, too. --Maybe I'll go disguised as a slave. They'll never expect   
anyone trying to get in, not out . . . 

**Luthien:**   
Beren, you don't have to prove anything to me. Let's just go.   
We can take care of ourselves -- we don't need civilization. 

**Beren:**   
No. Your dad's right. I can't do that to you. Argh! Now I understand   
my parents' dilemma. Poor Ma . . . 

**Luthien:**   
I should go with you. 

**Beren:**   
No! If anything happened to you I'd kill myself. You -- you can't   
imagine what it's like out there. The -- the spider-things and the   
things with the eyes . . . 

**Luthien:**   
But it's okay for you to go. 

[pause] 

**Beren: **[quietly]   
It's got to be easier the second time. And I've been doing it for years. 

**Luthien:**   
Why don't you go ask Finrod Felagund for assistance? He likes humans,   
and he owes your family. At least he'd give you supplies and maps. 

**Beren:**   
Good idea. I should have thought of that. --Are you going to be all right?   
Are your parents going to make your life hell while I'm gone? 

**Luthien:**   
What are they going to do? Lock me up in my room? I'm not a child of ninety. 

**Beren:**   
I wish we had some way to contact each other. Even a pair of those matching   
knives like in stories. --You don't have anything like that here, do you? 

**Luthien:**   
No, that's magic, not reality. --I should go with you. You need someone to   
look after you -- 

**Beren:**   
--Tinuviel, I'm comingback. No matter what happens, I'm coming back to you. 

**Luthien:**   
I'm counting on it. I'll be waiting for you. Forever. 

**Gower:**   
And here we draw the curtain dark   
across our scene of parting and desire;   
Of all that follows after, legend and song alike recount,   
to keep in mortal mem'ry what the gods remember still --   
how Luthien the elven-maid, and Huan hound of heaven,   
with Beren for love brought down the walls of hell   
and freed the First-light from dark Morgoth's claws   
and wove into the workings of the worldis Doom   
a brightling strand that shineth yet, despite   
(or through) the feeblest efforts of the bards.   
Thus   
asking your gracious pardon for this flight of fancy,   
having proffered in hopes of gentle diversion,   
we end this our humble file. Adieu!   
  
  
  


**EPILOGUE** [Outside the opening of the Caverns leading to the Palace. To either   
side lean the Captain and Bowman of Doriath; they are playing a game   
similar to 'Rock-Scissors-Paper' but with edged aerial objects.] 

**Beleg: **[between throws, leadingly]   
Oh, oh, wait -- I know what they are. 

**Mablung:**   
What? 

**Beleg:**   
In a word? --Fell. 

**Mablung:**   
Heh. 

[Beren enters through the gates, slowly, looking backwards, oblivious   
to the knives being tossed to and fro.] 

**Beleg:**   
Careful there -- 

[In a flash Beren transforms from distracted lover to superwarrior,   
spinning round and drawing sword and dagger at once to ward against   
all comers. Seeing the Doriath Rangers he remains in guard position   
while he speaks.] 

**Beren:**   
What are you doing here? 

**Beleg:** [reasonably]   
Waiting. 

**Beren:**   
For what? 

**Beleg:**   
Just waiting. 

**Beren: **[lowers blades but does not put them up]   
You're here to see that I leave the grounds promptly and without   
any trouble, right? 

**Beleg:** [shrugs]   
Something like that, yes. 

**Beren:**   
Something exactly like that, I'll bet. 

**Beleg:**   
Clever lad. You'll go far, I shouldn't doubt. 

**Beren:**   
Don't.

**Mablung:** [sotto voce]   
But will you come back again, I wonder? 

**Beren:**   
Nothing -- and no one -- is going to stop me. --I don't expect   
you to believe me. 

**Mablung:**   
So you're really off to infiltrate Morgoth's bunker? Defy the Lord   
of Paranoids himself, succeed where even Feanor (not to mention the   
Great of Arda) went down in flames? 

**Beren: **[defensive]   
Yup. 

**Mablung: **[guessing wildly]   
And you're what, all of fifty summers? 

**Beren: **[still more defensive]   
Twenty-five. I think. --Wish me luck, why don't you? 

**Mablung:** [seriously]   
Oh, we do. We do indeed. 

**Beren:** [disbelieving]   
Hmph. 

[He turns and starts to walk off.] 

**Beleg:**   
Ah, not to be overly critical, but Angband's that way, not the way   
you're going. 

**Mablung:**   
** --**Unless he's thinking of swinging by Nargothrond first. 

**Beren:**   
Clever fellow. Any final words of advice or farewell? 

**Beleg:**   
Hm...'Be careful'? 

**Mablung:**   
'Good luck' ? 

**Beleg:**   
--Yourself? 

**Beren:**   
Tell them that I won't come back empty-handed, and that they will   
see me again. 

**Mablung:**   
Beren. 

[They lock stares. Pause.] 

--The light of Elbereth go with you. 

**Beren:** [serious]   
Thank you . . . Sir. --Look after her for me. 

**Mablung:**   
We always do. 

**Beleg: **[sotto voce]   
We try, at any rate. 

[Beren looks round, pulls himself together, and vanishes into the forest.] 

**Beleg:**   
Did you see how he did that? 

**Mablung:**   
You neither, eh? --Twenty-five.   
[shakes head] 

**Beleg:**   
Think we'll see him again? 

**Mablung:**   
I'm no seer. 

**Beleg:**   
Same here. Definitely. Herself, as well. 

**Mablung:**   
You saw that too, eh? What do you think will come of it all? 

**Beleg:**   
Oh, death, destruction, woe and lamentation. 

**Mablung:**   
The usual, then. --This place is starting to get to me   
again. Up for a warg-hunt, Strongbow old chap? 

**Beleg:**   
Silly question. Whenever not? 

[They leave, strolling leisurely. Luthien appears in the doorway.] 

**Luthien: **[softly]   
Beren, you've made me see time as a mortal woman does. It's   
been an hour already! How will I survive a day -- a week --   
a year? Come back soon, my love, and safe, or I promise you   
I'll follow you to the ends of Middle-earth -- or the stars. 

[fade to black] 

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	2. Act II Houseguests from Hell: The Sojour...

_This is dedicated with grateful acknowledgment to that greatest of ancient authors,_   
_Anonymous,_   
_for demonstrating medieval snarkage in the play Everyman._   
_(Thanks also to NovusSibyl for an invaluable casting suggestion.)_   


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Lay of Leithian Script Treatment   
Houseguests from Hell, or, 'So, what exactly do you two do around here, anyway?'

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**THE SOJOURN IN NARGOTHROND FROM THE LAY OF LEITHIAN**

**retold in the vernacular as a dramatic script**   
**(with apologies to Messrs. Tolkien & Shakespeare)**

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Dramatis Personae & Cast, in order of appearance**   
[this is how I'd cast them - you're free to supply your own actors, of course.] 

** The Human Bard Gower (appearing courtesy of The Rose Playhouse)**   
Derek Jacobi (appearing courtesy Henry V) 

** Beren Barahirion, Human Warrior**   
Christian Bale (appearing courtesy Treasure Island, Little Women) 

** Nargothrond Border Patrol** **Captain**   
Hugh Jackman (appearing courtesy Kate & Leopold) 

** Steward of Finrod's Household**   
Alan Rickman (appearing courtesy Sense and Sensibility) 

** Curufin, Son of Feanor**   
James Marsters in sly, caustic and vicious mode (courtesy Mutant Enemy) 

** Celegorm,** **Son of Feanor**   
James Marsters in suave, charming, and gentlemanly mode (courtesy Mutant Enemy) 

** Huan of Valinor**   
Special guest appearance as Himself 

**Finduilas, Princess of Nargothrond, daughter of Orodreth**   
Gelsey Kirkland (appearing courtesy the Baryshnikov Nutcracker telecast) 

** Orodreth, Prince of Nargothrond**   
Hugh Grant (appearing courtesy Sense and Sensibility) 

** Finrod Felagund, King of Nargothrond**   
Kenneth Branagh (appearing courtesy Henry V) 

** Celebrimbor, Son of Curufin**   
Alexis Denisof (appearing courtesy Mutant Enemy) 

**Gwindor, a Lord of Nargothrond**   
Ioan Gruffudd (appearing courtesy A&E's Horatio Hornblower series) 

** Assorted Nargothronders of both Houses: Rangers, Citizens, and Knights**

(**Caranthir, Son of Feanor,** only appears in conversation; but you may imagine Douglas Fairbanks Jr., courtesy The Prisoner of Zenda, in that role.)   
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**SCENE I**

**Gower:**   
From Doriath's enchanted gloom   
let now your unfetter'd fancy roam   
to where the silver waters merge   
of Sirion, and the marshy verge   
of Twilight, and beyond   
across the rugged rainswept hills   
to Narog, and to Nargothrond:   
Hither wary Beren draws,   
with blood-won token ever shown   
to the sight, as yet unseen,   
of those who guard, in green   
of forest from enemy -- alone   
he comes into their hands; yet finds   
a gentler grasp and more courteous minds   
than welcomed him in Thingol's halls. . . 

[Outside the Gates of Nargothrond. Enter Beren, escorted by the Rangers, but unbound.] 

**Captain:**   
Forgive me, sir, but you must leave your weapons with us.   
It isn't permitted to go armed into the presence of the King. 

**Beren:**   
Of course. Hold on a minute --   
[He hands over his bow, quiver, longsword, shortsword and dagger] 

**Captain:** [relieved]   
Thank you for being so understanding about this. Now if you'll   
just come this way -- 

**Beren:**   
Not done yet.   
[taking assorted dirks from vambraces, leggings, belts and backpack.] 

**Captain:** [staring at the mounting pile]   
Oh...Is there more? 

**Beren:** [working poniards out of cloak hem and hand-guards]   
Yup. 

**Captain:**   
Is -- is that everything? 

**Beren:** [muffled, struggling out of his armor]   
No, there are still the backups, but you'll have to wait a bit.   
[takes another several pounds of metal from undertunic, sleeves, waistband]   
That should do it. 

**Captain:**   
Your trustfulness -- astonishes one. 

**Beren:** [shrugs]   
I'm here to ask for help. Weapons not going to be very useful for getting   
that, right? And I seriously doubt there are going to be any Orcs around   
here to worry about. 

**Captain: **[affronted]   
Certainly not! 

**Beren:**   
Exactly. But I have to say I'm a bit surprised at your trust, myself. 

**Captain:**   
? . . . ? 

**Beren:**   
Well, you don't know that I am who I say that I am. I could be a minion   
of Morgoth waving Barahir's ring about and claiming to be his heir.   
It -- is not -- an impossible scenario. 

**Captain:**   
Ah. Well. I do suppose it's -- remotely possible, but -- 

[He is saved from the increasing awkwardness by the entrance of the Steward.] 

**Steward:**   
I'm sorry, but the King is still tied up in meetings and he left strict   
orders not to be disturbed. If you wouldn't mind waiting until he's   
free, you can make yourself comfortable in the antechambers, and someone   
will fetch you when the council's over. 

**Beren:** [overcome]   
[nods] 

**Steward:**   
Is there a problem, milord? 

**Beren:** [hoarsely]   
--No. Not a problem. I . . . I wasn't expecting such a civil reception. 

**Steward:**   
We may be at war, but that is scarcely an excuse for neglecting basic   
courtesy. 

**Captain:** [drily]   
--Especially when it's been going on for almost half-a-millenium now.   
It's not as if anything's changed lately. 

**Beren:**   
Believe me, I'm not complaining, sirs. 

**Steward:**   
Then, milord, if you'll be so good as to follow us? 

[aside, to the Captain of the Border Patrol] 

--Are you sure? 

**Captain: **[shrugging]   
So he says. 

**Steward:**   
But-- 

**Captain:**   
I know. --I know. But mortals don't come back, or so he says -- and   
he should know.   
  
  
  


**SCENE II**

**Gower:**   
Now for the mean, whilst under distant shade   
sadly in duteous piety doth pine the maid   
Luthien, waiting for her love (or tidings of),   
the son of Barahir finds ease, and welcome,   
if not from all in Nargothrond, at least from some-- 

[The Steward ushers Beren into the royal apartments.] 

**Steward:**   
Please make yourself comfortable, milord. I only ask -- and please   
take no offenses, 'tis but for form's sake -- that you remain here   
and not wander before the King summons you. 

**Beren:**   
Not at all. I don't imagine I'd want to trip your security system. 

**Steward:**   
Precisely. What would you care for, while you wait? A change of garments?   
There's probably time for a hot bath, if you wish -- these councils often   
go far beyond what's planned. 

**Beren:**   
Er, food, actually. 

**Steward:** [blinks]   
Of course. What sort pleases you best? Manchets? Subtleties? Viands spiced   
and minced-- 

**Beren:**   
-- Hot is fine. 

**Steward:**   
Just -- hot? 

**Beren:**   
If it's not too much trouble. 

**Steward:**   
No, I'm sure the chefs can manage -- hot. 

[The Steward leaves, shaking his head. Beren wanders about, looking at the artworks   
and Really Cool Stuff around the chamber, being careful not to touch anything. 

[Room Service enters with a steaming tray and lays out a complete place setting before   
leaving. Beren looks at the table, looks at the chairs, looks at the state of his clothes.   
Makes a cursory attempt to brush off the assorted rust, mud, blood, and grass stains,   
shrugs, and sets the tray down on the floor instead. Sits down cross-legged and starts   
uncovering dishes.] 

[Enter Curufin, alone, looking around for someone else.] 

**Curufin:** [noticing Beren]   
--Well, well, well, what have we here? Something the dogs dragged in?   
Looks like a wolf's-head to me. 

[Celegorm enters] 

**Celegorm: **[flinging himself down casually into a chair]   
I agree, brother. A thief at best, or possibly a revolutionary. Someone   
with little respect for law and order, I dare say. 

**Beren:** [blandly polite]   
Yeah, that's what they say. Or so I'm told. 

**Curufin: **[sinking gracefully into another chair]   
You're mortal, aren't you? 

**Beren:**   
Mortal enough, to my enemies. 

**Curufin:**   
I make the jokes around here. --Mortal. 

**Beren:**   
Go right ahead. 

[He picks out part of the meal and starts eating. Curufin and Celegorm stare. Celegorm   
grins evilly and whistles. Sound of clicking on floor outside. Huan enters.] 

**Celegorm:**   
You'd better run -- he hates wolves, and wolf's-heads, outlaw. 

[Beren does not move. Huan approaches and snuffles him; Beren gives him some of   
the meat from his tray.] 

**Beren:**   
-- Aren't you a good boy? Want some more? 

**Huan:**   
[wags tail] 

**Beren: **[scratching Huan's ears]   
Dogs are great. Big dogs especially. --You don't really think I'd   
be in here without permission, do you? I'm waiting for your King. 

**Celegorm:**   
Huan! Get over here. 

[Huan reluctantly leaves Beren and flops down next to Celegorm with a sigh] 

Not our King. Not all of us here owe allegiance to the children of Indis.   
What are you, an emissary from the Kingdom of Beggars? Our hosts had   
better look to the number of spoons they have left when he leaves. 

**Curufin:**   
I've heard there are primitive tribes in some of these ancient forests. 

**Beren: **[between mouthfuls]   
That one was pretty funny. Not first-rate, but mildly amusing nonetheless. 

[the Sons of Feanor talk as though he has not spoken] 

**Celegorm:**   
Yes, don't they rub mud in their hair? And they're supposed to be short, too. 

**Curufin:**   
But they paint their faces, and I don't see any paint on his face. Of course,   
it's hard to tell with all that dirt... 

**Beren:**   
You know, I heard Elves were supposed to be incredibly eloquent, and wise,   
and perceptive on top of that. 

**Celegorm:**   
If you're not a barbarian, why are you sitting on the floor eating with   
your fingers instead of a knife? 

**Beren:**   
Ah, because-- 

**Curufin: **[talking over him]   
This is called 'furniture'. That -- 

[pointing] 

-- is a 'table'. One sits at it to eat, not next it. On these   
things called 'chairs'. They're really quite the rage now in   
civilized society. 

**Beren:**   
Chairs . . . You know, I think I remember those. We used to have   
some when I was a kid. --They burn really well when you can't go   
out to cut wood because there's a horde of Orcs in the way. 

**Curufin:**   
Insolent mortal, do you have any idea whom you're addressing? 

**Beren:**   
No, but I expect you're going to tell me. 

**Curufin:**   
I am Curufin, formerly of Valinor, and this is my estimable brother, Celegorm. 

**Beren:**   
--Oh. 

[aside] 

(Damn!) 

**Curufin:** [smugly]   
Ah, you've heard of us, I see? 

**Beren**:   
Everyone's heard of the Sons of Feanor. 

**Celegorm: **[preening]   
Look at that -- we're renowned even among mortals, brother. 

**Curufin** [suspicious]   
What exactly do you mean, everyone's heard of us? 

**Beren:**   
Let's just leave it at renowned, okay? 

[aside] 

(-- and leave out the 'psychotic obsessed losers' part . . .) 

[He waves a small piece of meat sneakily behind his back. Huan gets up   
and starts to come over to him.] 

**Celegorm:** [sternly]   
Huan! Down! 

**Huan:**   
[whines] 

**Celegorm:**   
Whose dog are you, anyway? 

**Beren:**   
I'm no man's dog -- or Dark Lord's. --Sir. 

**Celegorm:**   
I was not speaking to you. 

**Beren:**   
Good. 

**Curufin:**   
You've quite the opinion of yourself, haven't you? 

**Beren:**   
I know my limitations. 

[The Sons of Feanor scowl, trying to work out if this is supposed   
to be an insult. Beren tosses the meat to Huan, who catches it.] 

**Huan:**   
[tail thumps] 

**Celegorm:** [angrily]   
Stop feeding my dog! 

**Beren:**   
Maybe you should take better care of him.   
[throws another piece to Huan]   
Then he wouldn't be so hungry. --Would you, boy? 

**Huan:**   
[loud tail thumps] 

**Curufin:**   
So, I assume all this . . . artistic slovenliness. . . is just an affectation? 

**Beren: **[swallowing]   
Come again? 

**Curufin:**   
Well, you're turning up your nose at the finest venison there. It isn't   
as if the hounds didn't already get their share at the kill. 

**Beren:**   
I don't eat meat any more. 

**Celegorm:** [flabbergasted]   
Why ever not? 

**Beren:**   
I only hunt Orcs these days, and other things that fall into the general   
category of fell. And before you go there, no, I don't eat Orcs. Or wargs,   
or spiders. 

**Curufin:**   
You didn't answer the question. 

**Beren:**   
Orcs kill anything that moves -- and eat them, too, unless under strict orders   
to bring back prisoners alive. For one, it's a way of maintaining a difference   
between myself and what I hunt, when -- as you've so kindly pointed out -- in   
terms of civilization I haven't much footing left. For another, I can't   
help but identify with anything hunted by Orcs. It seems wrong, somehow.   
Treacherous, even -- I couldn't begin to tell how often I've been warned of   
a patrol's approach by bird-cries or fleeing deer. 

**Curufin:**   
So now you're equating us with Orcs, no less. 

**Beren:**   
I never said that. 

**Curufin:**   
But you implied it. By implication, as it were. Implying that those of us who   
do hunt, and eat what we bring down, are no better than Orcs, and no different. 

**Beren:** [slightly exasperated]   
No. It's a personal choice. I don't impose it on anyone else. I don't expect   
anyone else to have my reasons for it. 

**Celegorm**: [horrified]   
So what do you eat? Berries and, er, roots? You're not a farmer, are you? 

**Beren**:   
Well, before things got too bad, people used to leave stuff out for me, not   
obviously, but the occasional 'forgotten' loaf or cloak or or boots or wheel   
of cheese or leftover . . . leftovers. Not much, but it helped make ends meet. 

**Curufin:**   
I hate to destroy your idealistic illusions, but bread is made from eggs, you   
know. And eggs are animals. You do know that, don't you? 

**Beren:**   
That depends on the bread. Seriously, though -- not all eggs hatch, even in   
the wild. So far as the intent goes, I'm not trying to destroy a bird, just   
to sustain my own life, though I might end up doing so by accident. A small   
difference, maybe, but a real one. I think. 

**Celegorm:**   
Well, going by that logic, it isn't just Orcs that eat whatever they can catch.   
Pretty much any animal will hunt and take prey, even beasts that are mostly   
herbivorous, like mice. I don't see your objection, myself. 

**Beren**:   
True. But I'm not an animal, either. 

[Celegorm is fairly certain this is an insult directed at him, but is distracted   
from responding by Huan's willingly being lured away again.] 

**Celegorm:**   
No!!! Bad dog!!! Down, Huan!!! 

**Curufin:**   
I can't believe we're arguing moral philosophy with a mortal barbarian. 

[suddenly suspicious again] 

Orodreth? Is that you, playing some kind of bizarre joke? 

[He attempts to dispel illusion; since it is not an illusion, Beren's   
appearance does not change.] 

**Celegorm**:   
You spoke in the past tense. What do you do for mealtimes now? 

**Beren**: [becoming more enthusiastic as he goes on]   
Well, there's turnips, there's parsnips, there's feral edibles of all   
kinds around the old homesteads. A lot of the land used to be under   
cultivation. Cattails, you can prepare them all kinds of ways if you   
know what you're about -- a lot of different kinds of edible marsh grasses,   
in fact. Then there's pine-nuts in the forest in autumn, hazelnuts,   
-- berries, yes; wild-sunflower and thistles, the roots and heads can be   
steamed and they're really quite good; and there are always mushrooms. --If   
you know what you're about, again, and don't poison yourself. Even in winter   
you can find wood-ears and boil them -- 

**Curufin: **[fascinated in spite of himself]   
Wood-ears?

**Beren:**   
Those fungus that grow on trees and stick out like ears. 

**Curufin: **[remembering to sneer]   
Impressive. Quite a lot of work, for an abstract principle. 

**Beren:**   
I don't say it's easy. But I figure if the Sindarin clans can do it,   
then I can manage it too. 

**Celegorm:**   
Oh, so now you're putting yourself on the same level as the Kindred, are you? 

**Beren:**   
You guys really do have issues, don't you? What is your problem? You look   
like you have it pretty good here: you're cousins of the King, right? You   
don't have to worry about somebody deciding that that reward sounds a whole   
lot better than 'Thanks, gotta run, you didn't see me,' or finding your cave   
full of Orcs waiting to ambush you. Back off -- it's not like I'm here to   
threaten you, after all. 

**Curufin: **[suspiciously]   
What exactly are you here for? And who are you anyway? You look sort of   
familiar, but I can't place you. 

**Beren:**   
I really think that in prudence as well as courtesy the King should hear   
my business first. --Sir. 

[Before things can escalate, Finduilas enters with a parchment in hand.] 

**Finduilas:**   
Oh, there you are! Can I have your autograph, milord? 

**Beren:**   
? . . . ? 

**Curufin:**   
--What are you about, cousin? 

**Finduilas:**   
Isn't it wonderful? This is the mortal who saved my uncle at the Dagor   
Bragollach! 

**Beren:**   
No, er, that -- that wasn't me, that was my father. 

**Finduilas:**   
Oh. Oh. 

[frowns] 

Well, I'd still like your autograph. Can I see the famous ring? Do you know,   
everyone's speculating on why you've come. We're all madly curious. You must   
tell us! Oh, if you'd please sign it at the edge, then I can draw your   
picture in the rest. --Huan, go away, you'll smudge it! 

[Beren is overwhelmed; the Sons of Feanor exchange Significant Glances] 

**Curufin:**   
Finduilas, darling, don't humiliate the poor fellow. 

[Finduilas gives him a confused look] 

You can't expect everyone to have had your advantages of upbringing. I doubt   
very much he's even literate. 

**Finduilas:**   
Oh, I'm -- I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to -- 

**Beren: **[gently]   
It's all right. I do know my tengwar. And I'll be happy to give you my name,   
though I'm not sure why you'd want it. 

[He takes the pen from her] 

**Finduilas:** [very hesitant]   
Um, it -- it goes the other way round, milord. 

**Beren:**   
On the other hand, it has been a long time. 

[He changes the pen over and spells out the runes of his name, very carefully.] 

There. Does that look right? 

**Finduilas:**   
If your name is Beren, yes. 

**Beren: **[grins]   
Whew. Shouldn't have boasted before I did it, eh? 

[Finduilas dares to smile. He doesn't sneer at her. She is encouraged.] 

**Finduilas:**   
Is it true that you're here to organize a new Siege of Angband? They're   
saying you're the one that Morgoth was hunting all last year -- no, the   
year before -- and that he fears you more than anyone else in the world! 

**Beren:**   
Well, I -- I wouldn't say that, necessarily -- 

[An Elven-lord enters, to be enthusiastically greeted by Huan] 

**Gwindor**:   
Down, boy! --Did you find him, Faelivrin? 

**Curufin**: [grins]   
Faelivrin. 

[She blushes as she points out Beren.] 

That's so cute. 

**Finduilas**:   
Oh, stop it. --Gwin, can you believe it? You were right last winter, when   
you wouldn't believe the reports he'd been killed. 

**Gwindor**: [stammering]   
My lord -- it's -- such an honor. I never -- the stories, the songs,   
the way you always managed to get out of every trap   


**Beren**: [almost as much at a loss for words]   
You're both . . . very kind . . . I think -- I think you make too much -- 

**Gwindor**: [enthusiastic]   
-- What's it like, being a legend? 

**Beren**:   
. . . 

**Gwindor**: [oblivious]   
A champion of the oppressed -- the Man most hated by the Dark Lord himself! 

**Beren**:   
Mostly -- tiring. 

**Gwindor**:   
I would love to be like you! To think of it -- wreaking vengeance on our Enemy,   
obeying no rules, beholden to none, fearing nothing, alone against impossible   
odds, hunted by implacable foes, with a price on your head worth a king's ransom-- 

**Curufin**:   
I said he was an outlaw -- 

**Beren**:   
-- Actually, I never saw myself as an outlaw. I kind of thought of it that I was   
the Law, in Dorthonion. They were transgressors. I punished them. They outnumbered   
me. That didn't make Morgoth rightful lord of Beleriand. 

**Gwindor**:   
I really liked the way you would use an Orc-chief's own battle-axe to hew him   
and just leave it there. That was such an insult! -- did you mean it to symbolize   
that their evil deeds would turn against them and destroy them, just as their   
own weapons had? 

**Beren**:   
Um, no -- that was because axes are really heavy and I didn't need one.   
The less extra weight to slow me down the better. I could always count on   
another axe with the next one. 

**Gwindor**:   
Ah, practicality. So -- what was the most exciting part of your career? 

**Beren**: [after a long pause for thought]   
The sky. 

**Gwindor**:   
The sky--? 

**Beren**:   
Yeah, when I was waiting in ambush most of the night, or stuck in a swamp   
waiting for night, the way the branches and reeds would frame the sky was   
. . . it's hard to explain, but . . . it would keep changing, and every change   
would be perfect, and so slow . . . and then all of the sudden a bird would   
fly across, or a shooting star would -- 

[gestures vividly] 

and then it would be still again, calm like deep water, but still moving slowly   
all the time, the way a lake moves all the time in different ways under   
the surface. 

[long pause] 

**Gwindor**: [not sure what to make of this at all]   
Oh. That -- almost sounds Sindarin, really. 

[The Sons of Feanor exchange glances.] 

**Finduilas**: [with a defiant look towards them]   
I think it sounds beautiful. 

[confidentially to Gwindor, emboldened] 

You know, darling, since he wasn't dead after everyone said he must be, then   
perhaps Gelmir's still alive, and if it's true that Lord Beren's going to   
help lead a strike force against Angband, maybe he could rescue him . . . ? 

**Gwindor**: [controlled but clearly exasperated]   
Faelivrin -- you weren't there. You don't understand. My brother could not   
possibly have survived. --I don't want to talk about it any more. 

[Finduilas looks hurt] 

**Beren**: [serious]   
People do come back from the unlikeliest chances. But I did hear the Dagor   
Bragollach was like no other battle on earth. 

**Curufin**: [wearily]   
Little cousin, reconcile yourself to facts, and do not attempt to raise your   
sweetheart's hopes with well-meant foolishness. He's bones and dust on the Thirsty   
Plain, and none of us will ever see him again this side of the Western Sea. 

[smooth shift to sympathy, at Gwindor's glare] 

--I do apologize, my lord. 

**Beren**: [low voice]   
He's in good company. A lot of my family's out there, too. 

[Gwindor gives him a grateful look.] 

**Celegorm**: [mock outrage]   
You do think well of yourself, don't you? 

**Beren**:   
That wasn't what I -- Never mind. 

**Curufin**:   
Besides, what if he did somehow survive? That would mean he was a slave in   
Angband, and would you really wish that on anyone you loved? Even if he did   
somehow escape, he'd be no more than one of those brainwashed wretches that   
tried to assassinate your father and uncle in past days. He wouldn't be allowed   
to enter the domain, let alone return to live here. --I'm dreadfully sorry,   
children, but it is the truth, and one must not live on delusions. 

**Finduilas:**   
Oh, you're hateful! I wish you'd never come here. 

[To Beren] 

--Not you.

[She storms out.] 

**Gwindor**: [with a stiff and formal nod] 

My lords. 

[to Beren, with a deeper bow]   
My lord. 

[stalks out after Finduilas] 

**Celegorm**: [leans back in his chair, grinning broadly]   
Young love . . . Sickenin', ain't it? 

**Beren**:   
Oh -- I wouldn't say so. 

[Enter, almost immediately upon his words. the Steward, along with the Ranger captain,   
several more Border Guards, and a number of other warriors of Nargothrond.] 

**Steward:**   
Sir, it will be just a few more moments. I do apologize, on behalf of King Finrod,   
as I'm sure he would himself, were he here. 

**Beren:**   
That's -- that's fine. I thought for a moment you'd decided I was   
here on false pretenses and were coming to arrest me. 

**Steward:**   
Oh no, I'm so sorry. It's only that everyone wanted to see you -- all the   
lot from the Plains, for old time's sake. 

**Beren:**   
Oh. 

[rises and bows] 

Gentles, I -- I am honored . . . 

**Warrior:**   
The honor is entirely ours. 

**Ranger:**   
Your father used to talk about you. 

**Guard:**   
It seems like we've known you forever. 

**Beren:**   
I -- I wish I could offer you something, instead of coming as a beggar.   
But I can't even share refreshments, because I'm afraid what I didn't finish,   
Huan has. 

[Mysteriously on the other side of the room now, Huan grins and thumps his tail.] 

**Captain:**   
Well, you two didn't finish the wine, did you? That's all the refreshment one   
needs! Rinse out those bowls, men, we don't need cups. 

[aside, to the Steward, as the rest crowd around to shake Beren's hand] 

--Remember when all we had was our helmets? 

**Steward:**   
I'd almost succeeded in forgetting that. What it was like not to remember   
what sleeping in a bed was like, or what hot food tasted like, or -- holy   
stars -- hot water! 

**Captain:**   
Oh come, you know those were the days! 

**Steward:**   
Days of hell, you mean. 

**Captain:**   
Perhaps so. Perhaps so. But brightest the stars on the darkest nights.   
--You'll surely drink a toast to the Edain? 

**Steward:**   
Of course! 

**Celegorm:** [annoyed]   
This party seems to be happening without us, brother. 

**Curufin:** [quietly]   
Let the little people enjoy themselves. 

[Beren is beginning to hyperventilate, barely staying this side of fight-or-flight] 

**Captain: **[noticing]   
Are you all right, milord? 

**Beren:**   
Sorry. I haven't been around this many people in weeks. I haven't been   
around this many people who weren't trying to kill me in years. 

**Captain:**   
Everyone! Move back! Give Lord Beren some breathing space! More manners,   
less enthusiasm, and we'll all have a more enjoyable time. 

**Beren: **[quietly]   
Thanks. 

[The King's entourage enters, bodyguards, petitioners, clerks, and Orodreth   
all trailing along behind Finrod. Beren resolutely shoulders through the mob.] 

**Orodreth:**   
Grinding Ice, but I thought that session would never end! Why couldn't you   
just let it go till next season, Finrod? 

**Finrod**: [weary frustration]   
--And then next season it will be the season after, and then the season   
after that. I've gone that route before. I don't care what inspiration struck   
him, if he's going to drop everything and start working on plans for a giant   
orrery instead of the arbalest, then I first of all want to know about it and   
next I want to know who's lined up to replace him! Some things are more impor-- 

[stops dead] 

Beor . . . ?

[his voice trails off] 

**Beren: **[holding out the ring]   
Sir. Your Majesty. My father once was of service to you, and -- this ring I have   
-- as proof -- though I know it isn't conclusive -- 

[he falters under the King's stare and falls silent] 

**Finrod: **[ignoring the ring altogether] 

You're Barahir's boy. 

[He grips Beren's shoulders.] 

-- You look just like him. My home -- is yours. What do you need?   
  
  
  


**SCENE III**

**Gower:**   
To such a kingly welcome as, though well-deserved,   
lost Dorthonion's lord hath scarcely dared whereof to hope,   
Beren now is come, and here in royal rooms, and served   
by Finrod Felagund himself, he finds him rest, and dares to open   
(as only to one other e're before) the hard-defended chamber   
of his inmost thought.   
Hearing his mind, the Lord of Caves   
wondering greatly, considers all his words, spoken and unspoken,   
deeming him here a sign of fortune, or doom, nor that he raves   
when of his mad and main-wrought quest he tells -- how broken   
never will his given vow and pledged love ere be, while Sun   
and Moon cross 'twixt heaven's stars and the Endless Sea.   


[Finrod's apartments. Beren, somewhat less disheveled, reclines before the   
fireplace watching the flames. Finrod is seated across from him on the floor.   
A carafe is between them; each holds a wineglass. As the camera moves it is   
revealed that Huan, asleep, is serving as backrest for Beren.] 

**Finrod**:   
--More? 

**Beren**:   
Sure. 

[Finrod pours. Beren holds up & admires before the light. When he speaks   
his words are slower than usual, but not slurred: exhaustion, not drink,   
has overtaken him.] 

Thanks. --This is amazing stuff. I'd expect I'd be unconscious by now . . .   
I can't remember when I last had wine; it's got to be six or seven years,   
I guess. It's the strangest thing: I can barely move, I couldn't fight now   
to -- hah -- save my life, and -- you know, it doesn't bother me at all.   
My mind is perfectly clear. I think -- I think this must be what safety   
feels like. If I ever knew it before, I must have forgotten a long time   
ago . . . Where was I? 

**Finrod**:   
You were explaining why you remained behind when the last contingent   
of refugees departed. 

**Beren**:   
Oh, right. --You sure this isn't boring you? 

[Finrod shakes his head] 

Okay. --So then Da says, to him, "What did I tell you?" and Old Man   
Galthrin says, "You said Orcs, me lord -- you said nothin' about any Trolls!"   
-- I guess it isn't that funny. But it was at the point where there was   
practically nothing left for us to defend, and yet the less there was, the   
less we were willing to give it up. The land itself . . . was getting   
strange . . . along the edges, and farms just . . . disappeared, from time   
to time. Not burned, just gone, like old ruins. But the survivors wouldn't   
give up, and we couldn't abandon them. Finally -- and this had been going on   
for a long time, it didn't just come out of nowhere -- Ma said that Dorthonion   
was dying alive, that the only way to survive was to cut out what hadn't been   
too touched by blight and transplant it somewhere new. And Da said, "But the   
roots aren't dead yet, Em." And she just looked at him, and -- I knew. 

**Finrod**:   
Did you really think you could save anything by staying? 

**Beren**:   
Da was no fool. He wished me to go with her because he thought I'd be safer   
that way, but he told me that she'd be safer if I was there to look after her.   
Ma wanted me to stay with him because she figured we'd both be safer looking   
after each other, and she didn't really think they were going to make it. We   
drew lots; I got Da's arrow. 

**Finrod**:   
What did you want? 

**Beren**:   
Dorthonion healed. -- Not one of the options, though. That was, hm, two years   
after the Dagor Bragollach? Three? Dunno. 

**Finrod**: [winces]   
I'm sorry. Do you know if they made it through? 

**Beren**: [shaking his head]   
I've heard rumors now and then. Nothing reliable. I think -- I think --   
I'm pretty sure she's dead, regardless. I -- she only left because of the   
younger children. Once she'd seen them safe in Brethil -- assuming there's   
anywhere safe in Middle-earth -- I think she would have come back. Or tried   
to. That was the plan, though she didn't tell Da that. Seven years, though   
. . . she was one hell of a fighter. I don't think they took her alive. 

**Finrod**:   
That sounds . . . plausible. I heard much of Emeldir from your father during   
the War. He used to say I'd be better served by her, because then I'd have   
wits too, as well as a wielded sword at my command. 

**Beren**:   
That sounds like Da. 

[chuckles] 

--When we still had the fort, one of the things I hated worst--? Repacking   
the hedge. Worse than mudding up the walls in winter. Doesn't matter how much   
you wrap your hands, you still end up looking like you lost a fight with a   
wildcat. Couple times I tried to pull rank on some of the younger kids: hey,   
I'm the chief's nephew, you're just a couple of thanes, you go shove thorns into   
the barrier, I'll stand guard on the tower. Besides, I'm a better aim. --Actually   
got away with it. Twice, I think. 

**Finrod**:   
Did they report you to her? 

**Beren**:   
No -- she found them at it and pried the truth out of them. Then she called me out. 

**Finrod**:   
Called you -- out? As in a duel? 

**Beren**: [nods]   
She said if I was remanding her directives and changing the order of battle, then   
that obviously meant I thought I ought to be in charge of the fort. And in that   
case she was going to answer the challenge, because she had accepted the charge   
from the Lords of Dorthonion and she wasn't yielding it to Man nor Orc. 

**Finrod**:   
What did you say? 

**Beren**:   
After "Ma, wait--" and various assorted exclamations of pain? Let's see --   
"I'm sorry, Hathaldir; I'm sorry, Dagnir; everyone, I'm sorry for failing to   
give you the respect owed by your ruling House." Then I was allowed to stitch   
myself up. I thought she broke my collar-bone, but I could use my arm after   
a week, so it wasn't that bad. 

**Finrod**:   
Weren't you -- angry, with her? 

**Beren**:   
Oh, yeah. I was furious. After I stopped shaking I went down to yell at her -- 

**Finrod**: [incredulous]   
--After you'd just just lost a sword-fight with her? 

**Beren**:   
Why do you think that's funny? Something else would have come up and we wouldn't   
have gotten it out of the way. And there she was, doing my work, with her hands   
all torn up from the hawthorn branches. So I just started helping her as best   
I could. And after a bit I asked her why she didn't just make me do it, instead   
of busting my shoulder in front of everybody. And she said, "You can't make   
people do anything, kid. The best you can do is show them how to want it."   
So then I said, "But when you tell people what to do, they do it." And she says,   
"That's because they want to." And I said something stupid, and she came right   
back with, "Well, if they want to not have their heads broken more than they   
want not to do their jobs, then they're still wanting it, right?" 

[sighs] 

So then I asked why she didn't make someone else want to do this for her, and   
she just gives me this Look. And then she said, "You never, ever, ask someone to   
do what you're not willing to accept yourself." And I was too dumb to stop, and   
I said, "But aren't you too important to do this?" And she points over at the   
gatepost next to us, and she says, "Your grandfather pulled that lodgepole out of   
the forest when the last one was hit by lightning, because it was tall, but not too   
broad, straight, sound but not too heavy, and of a bore with the last one. That's   
what it is to be chosen leader. Occasional lightning and all. Or Orcs, as the case   
may be." 

[Huan stirs and whines sleepily, setting his head down with a grumble] 

And then about a fortnight after my Da comes home, and my uncle's not with him. 

**Finrod**:   
Did you ever think of going after her? 

**Beren**:   
I didn't know where to start. And there were still people who wouldn't -- or   
couldn't, by then -- leave. I thought -- I thought she'd try to find her way   
back, I left runes and checked all our haunts on my rounds, but . . . 

**Finrod**:   
Why did you leave? 

**Beren**:   
It wasn't a conscious decision at that point. I hadn't slept in days, they were   
everywhere beating the woods for me, all my permanent camps were staked out, the   
only thing I could do was keep moving . . . why do the deer move when there's   
famine and the hounds are after them? Aside from natural disinclination -- which   
some people would disallow as a valid motive -- I suppose -- in so far as I was   
capable of any kind of rational judgment -- that I realized that being run to   
earth, cut down and butchered by Orcs wasn't going to serve anyone's purpose but   
Morgoth's. I think -- I don't think I was completely sane. Not as men mean it.   
There was a clarity to it, but not meaning. I was, the world was, they were.   
I was where they were not. -- Far past the point where any sense of duty or hope   
remains. 

**Finrod**: [very softly]   
That point you reach when you're so tired that you just want to lie down and stop--   
but the body drags on like a hound on a leash until flesh fails and falls, and then   
the spirit burns to madness until somehow one cannot bear its pangs and staggers   
on again. 

**Beren**: [suddenly alert]   
You . . . do understand . . . ? 

**Finrod**:   
We have no songs that celebrate it. We endured. That's all. You must have heard --   
the legends. The Grinding Ice, the Crossing -- words, for something beyond words. 

**Beren**:   
'Beyond words' . . . where there are no words for it, there is only -- itself. 

**Finrod**: [lost]   
Think of the worst night of the harshest winter you've ever known: to me that would,   
I judge, be as a brisk morning for you. The Sun is always present, even when we   
cannot see her, and the world is always warmed. But in the Night Without Stars we   
had nothing -- only endless, crushing, devouring cold, until all that is left is   
loathing for one's self, for very life itself . . . when the only light is that of   
other souls . . . 

[Silently Beren props himself forward and fills the King's glass once more.   
Finrod drinks it off in one go.] 

**Finrod**:   
I'm sorry. This is gloomy hospitality. 

**Beren**:   
More wine? 

**Finrod**:   
Please. 

[Beren refills both glasses and slides back against Huan.] 

[More brightly:] 

Is it true that the price on your head was equal to that that's been set   
for my cousin Fingon? 

[Beren shrugs] 

**Beren**:   
That's what they said. Since nobody ever collected on it, it's hard to say   
if that was just talk, or if they would have actually paid out. 

**Finrod**:   
That's rather a signal honor, to be counted the equal of a Noldorin King. 

**Beren**: [manic grin]   
I should have thought of that in Doriath. That might have impressed   
His Nibs a bit more than -- 'Um, hey, my relatives were heroes.' 

**Finrod**: [troubled]   
He wants you dead, you realize that. 

**Beren**:   
Oh yeah. -- He said as much. In some detail, too. 

[shakes head] 

Not that I really blame him -- I mean, look at it from their point of view:   
the King's daughter of Doriath shows up one fine evening with this inarticulate   
loser in ripped camouflage and says, "Guess what! I've found my soulmate, Dad!"   
I knew it was a bad idea. And then I tried talking and I should have just   
kept my mouth shut. It was pretty funny, actually, at least if you weren't us. 

**Finrod**:   
You're too harsh on yourself. 

**Beren**:   
Oh, you weren't there. It was bad. -- It was worse, actually. 

**Finrod**:   
But surely your lineage, your legend, your House's service with my own, all   
would count for something, even with Elu. I've been a friend of his for   
ages -- he's paranoid, but with perfectly good reasons, and he's not blind. 

**Beren**: [shakes head]   
Like I said, it was doomed from the beginning. And really, his reaction was   
entirely justified, and more than he knew. Yeah, lords of Dorthonion and   
all -- but that was a long time ago. I'm not the same person I was.   
[points]   
See that arch up there? I could get up there, and no one would be able   
to see me until it was too late, because I could cover the doorway without   
offering a target. And if I could, someone else could do it. Even though   
I know I'm safe here, I'm aware of that. Not like I could do anything about   
it just now, but I can't help noticing. But it isn't just that. I couldn't   
talk for months, even after I got to Doriath. I was not . . . entirely sane.   
I -- don't think she told them that. In fact I'm sure of that. So, hoo boy,   
it could have been worse. --Cheerful thought, huh? 

**Finrod**: [seriously]   
You'll have to reconcile with him after this is all over, you know. You can't   
take Luthien back to Dorthonion, and even if you both come here to live, it   
isn't as though you can legitimately cut off all contact with her family, even   
if Luthien's angry enough to do so. And then there are political connections,   
too. I have to think of them, Beren. 

**Beren**: [deadpan]   
Well, you've already convinced me of the need to apologize and be nice to   
your two noble kinsman, so we can enlist them into going along with the program   
until we get to Thingol's with the jewel, and since the other half of that plan   
hinges on you talking him into being gracious enough to then make a gift of it,   
thereby keeping the Sons of Feanor happy, and not homicidal, (and incidentally   
at the same time delivering the most staggering insult possible to them which   
we won't tell them about, and making up for a couple few centuries of general   
oneryness and rude behavior to Thingol on their part) -- yeah, sure. I can   
probably manage not to mortally offend Tinuviel's father next time. So long   
as you do the talking, I'll do the keeping-quiet. 

**Finrod**: [more serious and admonishing]   
And you will do this, will you not? All of it? 

**Beren**: [still deadpan]   
You don't think I'd be crazy enough to jeopardize my whole life because the   
Sons of Feanor are a pair of arrogant bastards who for some unknown reason took   
an instant disliking to me? 

[pause] 

**Finrod**: [awkwardly]   
I have -- hm -- noticed a certain -- er, how can I put this tactfully? --   
intransigence in your people, over the years. 

**Beren**: [grins]   
--Stubborn as rocks, that's us. Goes with the territory, I guess. 

**Finrod**: [fascinated]   
Really? Do you think that's it? Something to do with geography? 

**Beren**: [confused]   
I don't -- I don't know. Maybe. I was just using a figure of speech. 

**Finrod**: [musing]   
-- Haleth was like that. Wonderful child, but one had to be careful not   
to agree with her too closely, or she'd take it all wrong. 

**Beren**:   
I'm not that bad. I don't think. --Hey! You knew Haleth? As in the Haleth?   
Lady Haleth of Brethil?

**Finrod**:   
Yes, she was having a run-in with Elwe, as it happens. Or Elu, as he   
calls himself now. Life's funny like that. 

**Beren**:   
It makes a little more sense if he's like the rest of the crew, but I never   
understood why she wouldn't take up Lord Caranthir's offer of shelter. 

**Finrod**: [drily]   
Obviously you've never met Caranthir. 

**Beren**:   
? . . . ? 

**Finrod**:   
--Let me put it this way: I don't cross him. --Ever. No, that wasn't the incident   
I was referring to. Why? Because Haleth was an intelligent and perceptive young   
woman and was not fooled by Caranthir's charming ways and words. Ever wonder why   
they showed up a week late, after the lord of the land was killed, and the heir,   
when they were practically in his backyard? Caranthir knew them for efficient   
fighters, and wanted them grateful, and leaderless. And he has not, so far as I   
can tell, the slightest compunction about using mortal Men as a screen for his more   
-- valued, shall we say -- troops. --I don't know that for a fact, of course.   
That's just my reading of the events. And the way he spits when he hears her name.   
No, I was referring to the -- tenor, of her exchanges with Elu over that unused   
property of his. It was a rather, er, heated crossfire to be caught in. A little   
tact might have made a great difference. 

**Beren**: [recognizing the hint]   
There was . . . not really . . . it was too late for tact by then. --Doomed   
from the beginning, I'm afraid. Everything I said made it worse. 

**Finrod**:   
Well.   
[sighs]   
I can probably patch things up. It still might even be wiser for us to go back and   
talk to Elu and to Melian -- you did say she was more favorably disposed towards   
your suit? -- and try to put this nonsense out of the way. 

**Beren**:   
Tinuviel said that. I -- couldn't tell. Maybe. She didn't look like she wanted   
me eviscerated, but I wouldn't say she looked happy. But it doesn't matter.   
I can't go back without it. I'm sorry. I can't. 

**Finrod**:   
I'll not press you again on that, then.   
[blandly]   
Are you sure you're not related to the Haladin? 

**Beren**: [grins wryly]   
Not as far as I know. --I still can't believe you knew her. Wow. She lived   
almost as long ago as Beor. That's -- 

**Finrod**: [worried look]   
Beren -- I knew Beor. 

[pause] 

**Beren**:   
I know. --I know. 

**Finrod**:   
But do you understand, Beren? Luthien, whom you charmingly persist in calling, not   
inappropriately, Tinuviel, but which I cannot imagine endeared you further to Elu,   
had already seen Ages before your ancestor was ever born. You think me ancient   
beyond belief -- yet she is even older, though you see no difference in our years.   
Can you begin to comprehend how strange it is to us, to think of one of us finding her   
match in a mortal Man, whose entire life is over and forgotten even, in the passing of   
one of our measures of time? 

[Beren looks at him in distress; Huan grumbles softly in his sleep.] 

Even though, since our Return, time has fled faster even for us, the urgencies   
of war making us care for the coming of winter and the haste of summer, for messages   
and meetings and councils marked by the passing of days, and hours even, and not   
weeks -- still it is not for us as it is for you, and cannot ever be so. How can   
you begin to measure the compass of her thought, who saw the first Sunrise of the   
world, when you have not lived a single twelve-twelvemonths' span? 

[Finrod's expression is sympathetic but urgent, attempting to convey his fears.   
Beren turns away abruptly and stares fiercely into the flames.] 

**Beren**: [low but clear]   
I heard a story . . . long ago, when I was a boy, but it was there everyday   
somehow, always behind the surface . . . about one who came out of darkness,   
to where we lay dull and almost speechless, and gave us words, and thoughts,   
and the knowledge of ourselves, and song. 

[Finrod bows his head and is silent.] 

--So Tinuviel came to me, when I was lost and alone and almost without name, and   
I can no more hold nor measure her than I could measure the stars of the Burning   
Brier, or take the Sickle in my hand, but without her I am blind and deaf and   
dumb, and I could no more live without her light than theirs! 

[stops himself] 

Forgive me -- I spoke without thinking. Again. 

**Finrod**: [very quietly]   
Forgive -- that you have learned so well? --No, Beren, I will not question you   
in this again, nor insult you, nor her through you. I thought I had seen all things,   
known all that mortal or Elven mind might do, and here is a new song that I've   
never heard before -- but that does not make it an ill one. More wine? Or shall   
I take your glass? 

**Beren**:   
Thanks. 

[frowning] 

It seems strange -- wrong, somehow. You shouldn't be waiting on me.   
--Sir. Sire. I'm sorry. I do know the right way to behave. 

**Finrod**:   
--Please. I should hope that if I am a good enough host to put you   
at your ease, that I would not then be offended by your informality!   
And this is hardly burdensome service, my friend. 

**Beren**: [with a wry smile]   
-- Friend. 

**Finrod**:   
--If I may presume so much. 

**Beren**: [softly]   
I'd hoped to meet with courtesy. No more than that. With duty, and   
civility at best -- at least a formal welcome, the bare necessities,   
a guide along the beginning of my road. I dared presume no more --   
I'm not my father, nor my uncle, I've done nothing for you or yours.   
I never thought -- to find -- a home. 

**Finrod**:   
Nothing? Beren, you, alone, have done more in your short lifetime than   
many Elves have accomplished in a hundred years. Your efforts against   
Morgoth, tying up so many of his forces, for so long, spreading such   
fear among them and setting such example for the enslaved and oppressed   
-- not for your people alone, though you might not have realized that fact,   
but for every creature friendly to the Light! 

[Beren cannot quite believe this is not mockery. Finrod's expression   
convinces him otherwise.] 

**Beren**:   
I should give you back your ring, Sire. 

**Finrod**:   
Keep it for your children. The debt I owe your family is beyond measure. 

**Beren**: [raises eyebrows]   
-- Optimist. 

**Finrod**: [earnestly]   
With you here to inspire, to lend your ability and legend to the cause,   
what will we not be able to achieve? We are stultifying here, Barahirion,   
to a degree you might not believe, seeing our rigorous defenses -- but   
that's all we've done since the last engagement ended. Small battles,   
little skirmishes, no one dares to do more. Not us, not Morgoth. But   
little by little, he accomplishes by sheer inertia, and we are defeated   
without a blow, because others fall to him. 

[becoming more agitated] 

Oh, we plan -- we prepare -- but what have we actually done? I can't   
even get a weapons development program to fulfillment, not even after Dagor   
Bragollach -- you'd think that people would see the need, see that he surely   
won't be resting on the successes of his biomechanoids and chemical weapons.   
I shudder to think of what he must be coming up with while we waffle over   
the symbolism and cosmology of warhead shapes, and squander the resources   
set aside on designing the world's largest planetarium! 

**Beren:**   
Er . . . 

**Finrod:** [in full rant]   
Oh, I know all the arguments -- that a perfect design, in perfection   
of harmony with the heavens, cannot but ensure victory; that the disregard   
of celestial balances is what doomed us before, that tiny inefficiencies   
in the cosmic pattern create massive chaos down the line. Grinding Ice!   
do I ever know them. And know a smokescreen when I see one, too. We lost   
too many, last time. It isn't the people who were there who cannot bear   
to think of renewing the attack: it's the ones left behind. We survivors   
would go back in an instant, and not stand around waiting for him to come   
out, if we had the means.   
[He grips Beren's shoulder]   
We will be rekindled with your presence, and renew the battle, and my   
people will see what they have been blind to all these years in ease and   
hiding, and together we will accomplish such deeds for the Light as Arda   
will never forget. --But that's for later: you're exhausted. We'll speak   
more when you've rested. --Good night, Huan. Rest well, my friend. 

**Beren**: [thumping Huan's neck]   
Won't Celegorm be upset if he discovers his dog is here? 

**Finrod**:   
Undoubtedly, if he notices. Huan roams most of the time as he pleases.   
He's older than I am, and quite capable of deciding what he should do   
without my say-so. 

**Beren**:   
But he still belongs to Celegorm . . . ? 

**Finrod**:   
So Celegorm thinks. Huan's his own dog, so far as I can tell, and does   
pretty much as he thinks best. -- In that he is not unlike a certain Man   
named Balan I once knew, and his descendants. Remind me to tell you about   
the time your many-times-great-grandfather forcibly convinced me that   
accelerated healing is not always an adequate substitute for cautery and stitches. 

**Beren**:   
What happened? 

**Finrod**: [raising an eyebrow]   
A skirmish, an Orc-scimitar, a long journey still to take, and no time   
for foolishness like rest or medical attention. I was not entirely sane   
at the time, either. Are you sure you'll be comfortable? Just on the tile   
like that? 

**Beren**:   
Oh, yeah. --It's flat. And dry. --And there's no down to fall, either.   
So long as Huan doesn't stand up, I'm good -- and probably even then.   
I don't know about not having my weapons to hand, though. 

**Finrod**:   
Would you be more comfortable with your gear? I can send for it -- 

**Beren**: [shrugs]   
I don't want to make trouble. 

**Finrod**: [mildly]   
I am in charge here: it won't be a difficulty. --It would be a strange   
thing indeed if I could not trust the son of Barahir of the house of Beor   
in my presence armed, or on my doorstep! I'll fetch your weapons for you. 

**Beren**:   
No, please -- it's not worth the trouble. I'll be fine.   
[smiles]   
That'd make your two noble kinsmen shake their heads, I bet. I can just imagine   
what they'd say. 

**Finrod**:   
That I give such trust to mortal men, or to your preference for sleeping under arms? 

**Beren**:   
Both. Either. 

**Finrod**:   
They've forgotten what it was to live in the field -- not that they ever truly   
did without the comforts of home when they could, you'll hear some -- interesting   
-- stories if you listen closely around here -- but they're also annoyed that   
you don't seem to be sufficiently impressed by the Eldar. 

**Beren**:   
I --   
[bites his lip in frustration]   
Sir, I'm sorry, I mean no insult to Nargothrond, or to your folk.   
It -- it's beyond words here, for one. For another -- I've grown up all my   
life hearing of the greatness of Felagund's court, and now I'm here, and I'm   
amazed. And for last -- I've hiked here from Doriath. I'm starved as much   
for shelter and kindness as a stray hound for his meat. More than that --   
way beyond my ability to take in right now. 

**Finrod**:   
Do you think I don't know all that? Don't let it trouble you. I at least remember   
what it is to sleep in a swamp, in one's armor, grateful for a few inches of water   
to hide in under a burning sky, and kind hands holding one out of it as one's   
wounds are bandaged. Nargothrond is not insulted by your presence, Beor. 

**Beren**: [with a worried look]   
I'm -- I'm not . . . 

**Finrod**:   
I know you are yourself alone, (however confused you might have left some today.)   
I meant it in the general, not the specific sense. 

**Beren**:   
But -- I've given you you no vow of fealty, sire. 

**Finrod**:   
Ah, the word is still confused in the translation. Funny how such things persist. 

**Beren**:   
I'm afraid I don't understand . . . ? 

**Finrod**:   
You translate it "vassal", and I am not entirely sure how mortals understand   
the word. As we use it, it is more, and less, and other, than a contract of law,   
or a bargain of power. It means . . . "one in whom one has complete reliance,"   
-- one who can be entrusted with a great work and more, needing no supervision.   
The words are but recognition of what is. Vows will not hold one to duty in the   
end. And it means, as well, the other half: that the trust is mutual, that the   
duty is given but for duty, and that faith will be kept in turn. 

[he looks away, then meets Beren's eyes] 

Ultimately -- it means, when all else fails, that one may send a vassal to his   
death, but never without good reason. Never from pride, or willful ignorance, or   
carelessness. Never a duty given without regard for the servant's honor. -- Lest   
in turn the liege turn traitor, and the bond be broken. But you know this already,   
son of Barahir and Emeldir, brother's son of Bregolas, lord of Dorthonion,   
-- whether you name it or not. 

[long pause] 

**Beren**:   
I hope I will earn this trust, then. 

**Finrod**:   
You will never fail me, my friend. 

**Beren**:   
Is that your -- your Foresight, sir? 

**Finrod**:   
No. That's merely judgment. Now take your rest: I must excuse myself for   
preparation of our plans -- which means, unfortunately, as many meetings   
as it does maps!   
  
  


**SCENE IV** **Gower**:   
In hope most high of endlessly-awaited strife,   
long mused, longtime abetted, longer dreamed of yet,   
King Felagund renews his ancient works, recalls to life   
long-stilled ambitions, to o'erthrow and set   
in one fell stroke great Morgoth's pivot-hold,   
back from its strangling press in sortie bold.   
Like a master-painter he works over his design,   
now adding here a stroke, now there a line,   
now at a sudden inspiration swift-casting off   
and in one grand wide-sweeping unguessed move,   
turns inside out or back to front what was,   
building in space, in time, in Fate unshaped, to cause   
the End long-purposed far beyond the Seas. 

Meanwhile Beren the traveller, rested of travails,   
finding himself a stranger in uncharted realm, though fair,   
essays his own adventures, where for guide hath only tales;   
(but never was there journey yet he feared to dare,   
in the Dark Wood, nor yet the Mountains of Despair.)   


[A solar (or what would be a solar were it not underground)-- that is to say,   
a large, pleasant, brightly lit dining chamber/living room/meeting space off   
the main assembly hall, where some are taking breakfast, some playing quiet music   
some chatting; but there is a nervous undercurrent that manifests in cheerfulness.] 

[Finrod's Steward enters. Beren, accompanying him, halts before continuing and   
checks 'both ways' to be sure that all avenues of ambush are clear, then steps   
quickly through. This gets some Looks. He is washed and dressed in clothes clearly   
not his own, both for quality and fit, and appears less barbaric, though the results   
of getting pine pitch in one's hair are not disguisable. More at odds with the   
tailoring is the fact that he has limited his accouterments to some dozen sidearms,   
belted openly over his garments. The overall effect is rather unique.] 

**Steward**:   
I'm so sorry we could not fit you better -- anything short enough   
was too narrow across the shoulders, and the alterations were rather hasty. 

**Beren**:   
Please -- you don't need to keep apologizing, sir. 

**Steward**:   
You gave us quite a turn, not being there. 

**Beren**:   
Sorry. I woke up and found I couldn't sleep where I was any more. 

**Steward**:   
On the floor? 

**Beren**:   
Under a roof. The arch was more -- familiar. 

**Steward**:   
Ah. I -- see. 

**Beren**: [smiling]   
You don't. --From above, it's like a tree. The ceiling is too high for a house,   
but too low for the sky. My caves were never chosen for their spaciousness. 

**Steward**:   
--Indeed.   
[moving on]   
There is a variety of foodstuffs available which will satisfy your dietary   
requirements, but I fear they are not labeled nor in any way distinguished   
in their arrangement at the buffet -- 

**Beren**:   
Again, I'd rather you didn't worry so much about my needs. I certainly don't. 

**Steward**:   
Are you sure? I can ask the chefs to make up a list -- 

**Beren**: [innocently]   
Or -- I could come forage around in the kitchens, if that would be easier. 

**Steward**:   
Stars, no!   
[drily]   
You're remarkably cheerful, milord. 

**Beren**: [smiling broadly]   
Well, I've been awake for one-twelfth of the day already, and nobody's tried   
to kill me yet. 

**Steward**:   
That is, I concur, an excellent reason to be pleased with life. 

[He shows the way to the 'groaning board' which holds is an array of foodstuffs   
so varied and plentiful that Beren cannot even be surprised at it, any more than   
one is surprised at the number of colored leaves in autumn. He fills a golden   
plate with fruit and pastries and cheeses -- and also fills his sleeves and sash   
with several kinds of flatbreads. The Steward is too polite to say anything, but he   
does notice.] 

**Steward**: [shaking his head]   
It seems that we have run out of glasses already -- I will have to speak to   
the staff. I'll fetch yours: what would you prefer, Lord Beren? We have   
spring water, well water, rainwater of different hours' vintage; there is   
also juice, in the modern fashion, both corrantine and grape, and this   
harvest's damson, which I personally recommend. There, is as well, watered wine,   
in any combination of wines or waters, in the old Valinorean mode, if you'd   
rather the traditional instead. 

**Beren**:   
Whatever you have is fine. 

**Steward**:   
All together--? 

**Beren**:   
No -- I meant -- whatever was most convenient. You decide. 

**Steward**   
You really don't care at all, milord? 

**Beren**: [encouraging]   
That's right. 

**Steward**:   
I do understand, young sir -- but I wish that I did not. May it please you,   
choose whichever seat you would: we do not stand on ceremony in the Hall of   
Hours, and everyone is free to take what place the soul desires. I'll return   
with your beverage shortly. I trust I may presume upon your forbearance   
to delay long enough to chastise the kitcheners for their duties' neglect. 

**Beren**: [graciously]   
You may. 

[The Steward bows and leaves him with a somewhat ironic-rueful expression.   
Beren tries to sit at the table, but cannot get comfortable in the chair: after   
several attempts to reposition it to where he is able to relax, he shakes his head.   
Laughing at himself, he picks up his plate, circling the room until he finds a   
convenient alcove and perches there. He does not seem to be aware of the stares   
which follow him.] 

[Someone has forgotten a goblet on the ledge, which is made of crystal and   
has for decoration a fully-sculpted version of the emblem on his ring, the two   
gold serpents winding up the stem and the gold wreath encircling the lip of   
the glass, but all the texture is completely covered in the clear shell blown   
around the ornamentation. Beren picks it up and examines it, astonished by the   
fineness of detail and its fragility. The Captain approaches and leans over   
with a most conspiratorial manner.] 

**Captain**: [manic whisper]   
--It's called 'glass'. One drinks from it. We make it out of sand. 

[Beren gives him an alarmed look; he maintains the earnest expression for a long   
moment, then dissolves into snickers, cuffing Beren on the arm.] 

Did he really say that? About furniture? 

[Beren nods, the laughter becoming contagious] 

They've been going around repeating it as though they think it makes them   
sound clever. --What a pair of gits! 

**Beren**: [looks around, then whispers confidentially:]   
Don't tell anyone, but I've forgotten how to use the stuff. I couldn't find   
a way to make the table-chair thing work. 

**Captain**:   
What, those things? They're designed that way, so you won't sit there   
and clutter up the area all day. -- No, I don't know. That's just my theory.   
One of Celebrimbor's early projects -- gorgeous as water, but as comfortable   
as a pile of rocks. 

**Beren**:   
Less, I thought. 

**Captain**:   
You didn't think people were sitting on hassocks and rugs and column footings   
over there to be artistic and create an elegant tableau, did you? --Though around   
here one never knows . . . 

**Steward**:   
There you are, milord. I thought you'd vanished again. 

**Beren**: [soberly]   
No openwork vaulting in here. 

**Steward**: [deadpan]   
I am certain some could be arranged, but probably not before lunchtime,   
I'm afraid. --Is that an empty glass beside you? Let me take that back   
and show them. Here is yours, milord. I brought the damson juice; I trust   
that it meets with your approval. 

**Beren**: [tasting]   
It does. It's excellent. Thank you.   
[sets the goblet aside and takes out his eating-knife.]   
If you will forgive me, sirs -- I'll eat in your presence, for as Da   
always said, if people will drop by at mealtime they'd best not expect   
me to stop for them -- but I would no less than my folks that you stay,   
and join me if you'd like, for my mother's table never lacked another   
place. 

[He offers choice of what's on his plate: they are visibly moved.] 

**Captain**:   
No, I've ended my fast hours ago. But I thank you, Lord Beren. 

[The Steward only shakes his head. Beren begins to cut the little   
Lady-apples into halves but halts when an imposingly-regal individual   
approaches them, and his two companions at once come to attention.] 

**Captain**: [salutes]   
Your Highness. 

**Steward**:   
My lord Barahirion, may I make known to you our good King's brother and   
coordinator of the realm's defenses -- 

**Beren**: [putting aside his meal   
-- Prince Orodreth -- 

**Orodreth**:   
Please -- do not rise. I've no wish to impose upon you after the rigors of   
your journey! I only wished to say, at outset -- how much -- without delay,   
that is -- that I admire your many valiant efforts in the field and have   
always hoped and prayed for your continued success -- that is, when of course   
report more than insubstantial rumor has arrived, since the course of reliable   
news from out of the North has naturally dwindled in past years -- Not that   
I am blaming you in the least, my lord Beren, far to the contrary -- Rather   
I wanted to express my sorrow for your grievous losses -- and to express   
my gratitude for your own good works, on behalf of all our peoples. -- I also   
-- as a father -- would like to thank you for your kind indulgence to my   
daughter's fancies -- though, in truth, were it not for the exigencies of   
my job I'd have likely been asking for your autograph the other day as well!   
Her fiancee hasn't stopped talking about you these last two days either --   
prepare yourself for much curiosity, my lord. Nargothrond wishes to thank   
our hereditary champion -- not least impressive for the fact of your mortality -- 

**Beren**: [as Orodreth appears to be waiting for something, uncertainly:]   
-- You're welcome? 

**Orodreth**: [a touch relieved]   
You do me honor, Lord of Dorthonion. I trust I'll see you presently in council? 

**Beren**:   
You know more than I do, I'm afraid, Your Highness. 

**Orodreth**:   
Ah. I did not mean to put you on the spot. milord. Now if you'll forgive me,   
I've got to run-- 

[Apparently by accident, the Steward half turns to bow in reply and simultaneously   
tread on the Ranger Captain's boot as Orodreth takes off.] 

**Beren**: [staring after Orodreth]   
Was that supposed to make sense? Or am I still asleep? Which I gather from   
his words lasted rather more than one night, and I'm not surprised at all.   
That's gotta have been good for another three years . . . 

**Captain**: [lowered voice]   
He lost his nerve. Left our final position of defense to Morgoth's top commander   
after a battle significant in its utter absence, and fled back to Nargothrond with   
the gates wide open. The only thing he didn't do was wait to give Sauron the grand   
tour of the place. 

**Steward**:   
You haven't talked to the people who came back from there. It was something   
beyond reason, something which sent everyone there into the same funk as   
the Night of Darkness. I doubt that anyone could have held out longer than   
the Prince did. 

**Captain**:   
Do you think the King would have neglected to at least tear the place down   
before he left? Not left it standing there for our Enemy to use, and give him   
for free the best terrain in the region! -- All right, I'll stop. 

[to Beren] 

But that's what's behind his apology, lad. After Tol Sirion fell, the Enemy's   
troops were pretty much able to plough through us wherever they wanted, having   
a fine base of operations to work out from, and we were no longer able to   
control them in Beleriand at all. 

**Beren**:   
Oh. --Ohhh . . .   
[frowning as he begins to understand, and put many things together. Perhaps he would   
ask more, or say something, but Celebrimbor son of Curufin approaches, wearing a   
somewhat distracted expression. (The actual source of his apparent rudeness is as   
much inventorly preoccupation as awareness of his own exalted heritage, but this   
would not be obvious at once to a bystander.)] 

**Celebrimbor**:   
Has any of you lot seen my glass? I think I forgot it over here . . . 

[The Steward hands it to him with a Look.] 

I know, I know, I'm sorry -- I was writing in my tablets and I've only   
got two hands -- 

[checks] 

I say, is that the famous Ring? 

[He seizes Beren's wrist and yanks his hand up for a better look, apple and all,   
leaving Beren staring in astonishment at the eating-knife in his right.] 

**Beren**:   
Ah -- excuse me? 

[The grandson of Feanor looks at him with mild surprise as though not anticipating   
him capable of speech. As the expectant pause extends and the other Elves look at   
him with disapproval, Celebrimbor blushes in realization of his error and clears   
his throat, releasing Beren's arm and bowing formally.] 

**Celebrimbor**:   
I was wondering -- might I examine it more closely, please?   
I've a technical interest in the metal arts. 

[Wordlessly Beren removes the Ring and passes it to him.] 

**Celebrimbor**:   
Amazing, how such a trinket can summon kings to do one's bidding... 

[When done he returns it and is about to leave, but notices the Looks he is   
getting from the Steward and the Captain.] 

Thank you, er, Barahirion. 

[moves away to the far side of the solar and his friends.] 

**Beren**: [amazed]   
It's like I didn't even exist. 

**Steward**:   
Don't let it trouble you, milord. 

**Captain**:   
They're all like that -- Shiplords. Unless you can do something for them. 

**Steward**:   
Actually, Lord Celebrimbor is not the worst. 

**Captain**:   
It would be very difficult to be worse than his father. 

**Steward**:   
His uncle is always civil, at least to me. 

**Captain**:   
That's because you're the one in charge of organizing hunts. Don't flatter   
yourself: Celegorm is not a nice fellow. My men served as beaters for him   
once. Do not ever get between him and the game. It's always accidental, he   
always apologizes for nearly running you over -- and then he does it again. 

**Beren**:   
That was Curufin's son? I wouldn't have guessed. 

**Captain**:   
You had something he wanted. 

**Beren**:   
There aren't any more of them around here, are there? I've promised to be   
civil to them, and I'd like to be prepared . . . 

**Steward**:   
No, that's the lot of them. But they have a sizable retinue here. 

**Captain**:   
In other words, don't assume that anyone you meet is not a partisan of theirs. 

[grim chuckle] 

Heh. I wonder if the Master-Smith realizes how close he came to having his   
arm stabbed just now? 

**Beren**:   
Oh no, I wouldn't have struck: there weren't any threat indications from him.   
But it was kind of a dumb thing for him to do. --Are they all that biased   
against us? 

**Steward**:   
Well, there's Caranthir, but . . . 

**Beren**:   
--So I've heard. 

**Steward**:   
Maedhros isn't nearly as bad as the rest, and Maglor is fairly decent too. 

**Captain**:   
They've still got attitude problems taller than Taniquetil. 

**Steward**:   
There's no call for blasphemy. And we'd have no cavalry without them. 

**Captain**:   
True. I am very grateful for the cavalry. I don't think they care much one   
way or the other about mortals, though. 

[leadingly] 

Oh, and don't forget Amrod-and-Amras. . . 

**Steward**: [drily]   
That, certainly, would be impossible. 

**Beren**:   
I'm afraid I don't remember my kin speaking anything of them--? 

**Captain**:   
They probably wouldn't. Hardly anyone ever sees . . . them. -- That is rather   
the point, isn't it? 

[the Steward grimaces. Beren looks from one to the other of them.] 

Oh, go on, tell him. We don't need to worry about impressing The Beoring,   
of all mortals! 

**Steward**: [sighing]   
The story -- and recollect at all times that this is no more than a story --   
is that Amrod was forgotten aboard the stolen ships when Feanor decided to burn   
them. You know of all that miserable affair from your history, I presume? Or   
whilst certainly not not all, at least the general outline? 

[Beren nods.] 

Moreover, your cousins were born at a birth, as I recollect -- 

[Beren nods again] 

-- and I never had the slightest trouble telling them apart, milord. Now the   
first we knew of that ship business happened when King Finrod began scouting   
out the reaches of Angband to aid in the strategies of the siege, and sent to   
ask permission of the lords of the North to traverse their lands with surveyors.   
I was received civilly enough, and gave my speech before Lord Amrod, who listened   
and asked questions and then said he'd have to consult with his brother, who   
was out hunting, and would undoubtedly want to speak with me himself on the   
morrow when he got back. So they put me up at the lodge and the next morning   
I asked if I could see Lord Amrod again, because there were a few points I had   
perhaps not laid out as well as I might and wished to clarify. 

"No," their steward replies, "he's Amras today." I was sure I must have   
misunderstood and spent breakfast wondering what I had misheard him say, when   
I was summoned again to the lords' hall, and there was -- so far as I could tell --   
the same individual with whom I'd spoken previously. Yet his manner, his dress,   
his bearing, his voice even, were all different. They introduced me to him as   
Lord Amras, and he insisted that I tell him all my message as I had told his   
brother. I trust I do not flatter myself when I say that I maintained my   
composure throughout, but I must confess that I was not prepared for the   
explanation which I received after from my counterpart in the lords' household,   
under some considerable pressure. 

**Captain**:   
And which you said you weren't sure you believed, either. 

**Steward**:   
Do you want to tell the story? --All right, then. Apparently, and this is only   
hearsay, but it fits the evidence, and subsequent reports -- when Amras died on   
board the ship, his soul was unwilling to return to the punishment that awaits   
us who rebelled, and his brother was unwilling to let him drift alone and   
houseless on this Shore. So, being twin and so much the same in flesh and   
spirit, Amrod gave way to his slain sibling and yielded his body to the other's   
will. But Amras, no less without precedent, and grateful for the gift, cedes back   
control in fair measure and with perfect accord, and so they both walk -- or ride   
to hunt, more like -- in Middle-earth. 

[Beren is speechless] 

Now, either this is simply a bizarre joke, which the youngest sons of Feanor   
and their household enjoy perpetrating on their more distant relations, and they   
both live but choose not to appear together before outsiders; or it is the case   
that the youngest son was killed, and his surviving twin went mad and now plays   
his part, which would explain why I could not tell any difference in 'their'   
presences; or -- it is true as I was told. 

**Captain**: [snickers]   
Or -- it's true -- and they're both mad. Equally plausible, eh? 

**Steward**:   
Don't laugh: it isn't funny, it's horrible and tragic. 

**Captain**:   
It's horrible and funny, Edrahil. It adds that last little missing touch of   
the surreal to the whole grisly mess. 

[starts laughing again] 

"He's Amras today" --sweet Cuivinen! 

**Beren**: [appalled]   
Can that happen? 

[The Steward raises his eyebrows and shrugs.] 

**Steward**:   
Dark and powerful spirits have been known to seize the careless and unwary   
Seeker, or exchange recently slain dwellings with a living. But that's uncommon,   
at least among our people, and involuntary. I've never heard of such a willful   
sharing of one home between two Eldar souls -- yet I can't think why it should   
be impossible. 

**Beren**:   
I think -- I think that's the scariest thing I've ever heard. 

**Captain**:   
I keep telling myself, every time it comes up, that it's really rather moving   
to think of such devotion and unselfishness and brotherly love. So far it hasn't   
worked very well. 

**Beren**: [still rather shaken]   
That beats every ghost story I know. If my cousins had heard about that when we   
were kids, I would never have slept a night for the nightmares. . . . But you know,   
what would be worse, is if you thought it was normal. 

**Captain**: [blandly]   
Well, actually -- 

[The Steward rolls his eyes resignedly; they are broken in upon by the arrival   
of several of 'the lot from the Plains'] 

**Captain**:   
Oh, sound the retreat, here comes the horde! 

[He gestures them down] 

Serried rank, there. Don't crowd our guest. 

[Suddenly tongue-tied, they look at Beren in embarrassment. Seated in the arched   
alcove, flanked by an Elven-lord and an Elven-warrior, with petitioners kneeling   
before him, he looks rather like a primitive image of Orome, though he would never   
guess it himself.] 

**Ranger**: [awkwardly]   
My lord Barahirion -- 

[gasps, enthusiastic] 

-- Do you have 'Dark Battle' there? 

**Beren**: [setting his hand on the hilt of his sword, surprised]   
Yes -- How do you know ...? 

**Captain**:   
Legend, lad, legend -- get used to it. 

**Ranger**:   
Might we see the blade? 

**Beren**: [uncertain, looking to the Captain]   
I've peace-bonded it -- Sir? 

**Captain**:   
I'll stand warrant. 

[grins at the younger Ranger] 

You're less likely to do accidental damage than some people I could mention here. 

[Beren unlashes the hilt from the scabbard and offers it correctly, hiltwise,   
to the Elven-warrior first, who hefts it, nods, and passes it on to his subordinate.] 

**Ranger**: [awed]   
'Dark Battle' --!

**Beren**: [plaintively]   
It's just a sword. The balance is good and the span suits my height. There's   
no aura to it that I can tell, no runes woven into it. 

**Steward**:   
It is Dwarf-work, though. It came from here, like your armor. Beor's eldest son   
chose that blade; the hauberk was a gift to your great-grandfather Boromir when   
the grant of Ladros was made. Prince Aegnor said at the time that he'd gladly   
give even more to anyone willing to take that damp, drizzling wasteland off his   
hands, and that anyone who was going to defend it needed mail that wouldn't rust. 

[Beren shakes his head, amused at his own surprise] 

**Guard**:   
Excuse me, my lord, but -- why is your scabbard covered in wolf-skin? 

**Beren**:   
Hides the smell of the metal. Until it's too late. I had a cape to match for   
winter, but that didn't survive the journey, used it for bug-bait . . . 

[shakes his head, trying to forget about that part] 

**Soldier**:   
My favorite story's the time when you challenged that Orc-captain to   
single combat. 

[Beren looks blank] 

The one they called 'The Butcher'? Gorgol, it was? 

**Beren**:   
Um, no -- I shot him from behind. A lot. 

**Soldier**:   
But there's a song -- 

**Beren**:   
I didn't make it.   
[pause]   
I wouldn't be at all surprised if everything that any of us did was also   
ascribed to me. That happened to Da when he was alive. And everything that   
the hidden resistance efforts did as well, they said was me. --Which was their   
right. I was responsible, after all, being their Lord, for what was done in   
my will, even if not with my explicit orders, and the blame mine to take for it. 

**Guard**:   
But you did burn down that supply depot, did you not? That command center at Drun? 

**Beren**: [shrugs]   
Fire arrows work great for that. 

**Captain**:   
Shot from where? There's no cover around Drun, unless the landscape's changed   
considerably in the last twelve-score years. 

[Beren gives him a reproachful look. Innocently:] 

I'm just saying-- 

**Ranger**:   
--Did you really wound the Lord of Wolves? 

**Beren**:   
Oh. That. --Maybe. 

[makes a face. To their expectant looks:] 

When they sent in the wolfpacks initially there was a command group riding   
in the middle and this one guy in black armour who was taller than anyone   
I've ever seen, yourselves included. Black with spikes, of course. But I don't   
know if it was him or one of his minions -- if I was him I'd use a minion, and   
shift into a warg like they say he does. I just don't know: scary-looking-black-iron   
versus recurved, reinforced, yew/horn laminate and a straight-down shot not usually   
much of a contest, but I barely winged him. I swear the air rippled when I loosed   
and it was like shooting into water. So maybe it was Sauron after all. 

**Soldier**:   
The air moved? 

**Beren**: [shrugs]   
I wouldn't believe me either. But I don't usually miss, not when I've got a wide   
angle and an elevated blind to work from. 

**Soldier**:   
No, he could do that. I'm just amazed you weren't obliterated after. 

**Beren**:   
I was in a stand of oaks. 

**Guard** [to the Ranger, whispering]   
--Did that make sense? 

[the Ranger shrugs. Aloud:] 

My lords, I do not wish to signal any disrespect to the Edain, but I fail to   
see how that could protect one against the Lord of Abominations? 

**Beren**:   
I -- think the land protected me. The trees -- 

[they are more confused] 

**Steward**:   
--The land? 

**Beren**:   
It never betrayed me the way it betrayed others. 

**Soldier**:   
How could the land betray one? 

**Beren**:   
It ate people. Farms. Beasts. Cattle strangled in vines in the open field.   
Hillsides disintegrated under a man's heel and pitched him down in the midst   
of his foes where the track had been solid an hour earlier, and no rain. 

**Steward**:   
But would you not say that was the work of the Enemy? 

**Beren**: [thoughtfully, shaking his head]   
I think the land went mad. I think we drove it crazy, fighting over it, holding   
it so hard and with such hate and fury on both sides, till it savaged all of us   
like a wounded hound unable to tell the difference between friend and foe. 

**Soldier**:   
And why not you? 

**Beren**:   
I can't explain. Perhaps -- no, I don't know. I tried not to take without making   
thanks, not to damage as I went. I never resented it. That's -- that's why I'm   
alive, though. I was the only one who could skirt through the Nightshade without   
being affected by it. It was depressing, but it only made me sad, not insane.   
There were trees that I knew I didn't dare touch, and others that would tolerate   
me, but I didn't abuse their hospitality, so to speak. And then there were some   
in Dorthonion that welcomed me, that I knew I could sink pegs into to aid my   
climbs and that I'd sleep in without fear of any harm -- times when I swear the   
leaves turned to screen me from Orc-sight, when the roots folded fast about me   
against the wolfpacks and I never feared being trapped in the earth or thought   
to move to hide myself better. Oaks were particularly good to me. And beechgroves   
were always safe. 

**Ranger**:   
But -- you're a mortal, milord. 

**Beren**:   
So I've been told. But the woods and hills have never threatened me. 

**Soldier**:   
Is that how you were able to carry off so many legendary exploits? 

**Beren**: [clearly still very uncomfortable with that 'legend' bit]   
Part. After my father died I only cared to do as much harm as I might to our   
ancient Enemy. I did things that've been called impossible because no one thought   
they'd be attempted, and didn't guard against me. Then they guarded against what   
I had done, --not what I did next. And since they'd manage to make sure that I had   
nothing else to do, no other responsibilities to look after, no one else to worry   
about, I could put a lot of work into the planning, give the execution free rein.   
It wasn't like there was anything they could do to me, except catch me. And against   
that it's a good idea to have as many psychotic mutants and demon wolves as angry   
with you as possible, because then they're not going to stop and say 'we should   
really take this guy back home for questioning, we'll get double the reward then'-- 

[shakes head] 

There was a legend running wildfire given the name 'Beren,' but there was no one   
left to call me by that name . . . 

[aside] 

. . . or to answer. 

[Silently the Royal Guard who is present holder of Dagmor slides forward and   
lays the sword down in front of him on the ledge; Beren gently traces his fingers   
down the flat of the blade.] 

**Ranger**:   
But were you not assisted in your revenge? 

**Beren**: [confused]   
By who? 

**Ranger**:   
By the men of his shield-band, your companions in all fortunes? --Dairuin?   
--Gildor? --Arthad? 

[With each name Beren slowly takes a knife from his bandoleers and places it   
on the stone ledge in front of him next to the sword.] 

**Guard**: [unable to stop asking, but knowing what's coming]   
--Urthel? 

[click -- a knife] 

--Radhruin? 

[click -- a fifth] 

--Ragnir? 

[click -- the sixth] 

**Soldier**:   
Gorlim? 

**Beren**: [voice eerily calm]   
I have nothing of his. He -- died elsewhere, and I -- never found his body. 

[checks] 

No -- I'm wrong. I take that back. 

[takes up the little eating-knife] 

He told me this was Elvish work, and lucky, when he gave it me at Sun-Return   
the first year I was old enough to hold blade. Since the cut I immediately   
gave myself didn't get infected, the luck seems good. I think there's a rule   
that you have to cut yourself with your first knife, and hide it from your parents... 

**Captain**: [softly]   
It has the rune for keenness in it -- a clean cut rarely festers. 

**Ranger**:   
Your cousin Baragund? 

**Beren**: [sets down two daggers side by side at once]   
With his brother my cousin Belegund, dead one beside the other, halfway back   
to the camp. If the Orc-arrows hadn't been poisoned they might have lived at   
least enough to warn the others, but the patrol kn-- thought to take out the   
sentinels first. 

[sets down another blade] 

Dagnir, almost of an age with me; 

[and one more] 

Hathaldir, who should have gone with the children and the wives, but wouldn't. 

[He then unbuckles the leather straps that held the sheaths about his forearms.] 

That's Ironjaw, 

[lays down another band] 

that's Bellsong, 

[followed by a third] 

and Star. My father's hounds, and mine. 

[A long silence] 

**Steward**:   
You are the last? Of all Dorthonion's warriors? All your father's household   
at once, save you? All who were at the Dagor Bragollach with us, and their   
sons, but for you alone? 

**Beren**: [incredulous]   
Did you not understand? I thought it was made clear -- 

**Steward**: [equally distressed]   
No. And yes. --And no. It is still difficult for us to comprehend the brevity   
of human life, but we accept it -- but ten years is small even in mortal   
reckoning, and the shield-guard of Dorthonion of younger years for the most   
part, and is is beyond my ability to believe that Belegund your kinsman, who   
carried me out of Serech on his shoulders, and shared the last of his water   
with me in that furnace -- is gone from Arda as last year's leaves. 

**Beren**: [hoarsely]   
But in wartime a day is long, and 'sunset may be a dirge where the morning   
was a dance.' 

**Soldier**: [low voice]   
My lord -- we have not known full war these several years, and save the   
Dagor Bragollach and the times immediately following, not since long before then. 

**Beren**: [comprehension arriving in full]   
That is why your Prince apologized to me. --Not to me, to Dorthonion. Our realm   
died -- holding your borders against the North. 

[Silence; no one dares to speak] 

Well. I'm glad -- I saw what we saved. 

**Captain**:   
My lord, forgive -- 

**Beren**: [interrupting]   
--Let it go! --My friends. We never sent to you for aid. We never asked   
for help. It was our duty, as we saw it, and our will, and the song's done   
and over with. 

[he is breathing hard and his fists are clenched on his knees, and they wait   
tensely; then he shakes it off and begins wrapping the collars around his arms   
and replacing the weapons with perfectly steady hands.] 

**Beren**: [pleasantly]   
I'll be pleased to dwell here, when I've done what I came for. 

**Steward**:   
Will you, my lord? 

**Beren**:   
Yes. So long as you allow freedom of the woods to -- my House. I know   
I can't live underground all the time. 

**Steward**:   
I speak with complete confidence of the King's will when I assure you that   
you -- and yours -- will ever be free of Nargothrond. 

[it's clear from this that Beren's mission is no secret to him at least] 

**Ranger**:   
When the nomads come through High Faroth again, it would be interesting   
to hear what they have to say about that notion of the land sensing the   
doings of Men, sir. 

**Guard**:   
You're right, it really does sound akin to something the Turned Ones would   
say. 

**Ranger**: [officiously]   
You shouldn't say 'the Turned,' that's quite rude. Laiquendi is permissible,   
but Lindar is better -- that's what they name themselves, 'the Singers.' 

[the Ranger Captain smiles slightly at a well-learned lesson] 

**Beren**:   
Er -- who are the nomads, and where is High Faroth? 

**Steward**:   
The Green Kindred -- some of our people who never followed the Call, even so   
far as these lands. They build nothing, make no permanent shelters, kill no   
living thing for food or sport -- will not even cut live wood -- and their   
only arts music and woven adornment. They're very strange. 

[Beren carefully says nothing. Realizing] 

Forgive me -- that was not what I meant to say -- 

[breaks off] 

**Captain**:   
They're the reason you were born in the North, lad. Your folk came with axes   
and ploughs and the Singers begged our lord to send you elsewhere, or they'd   
not be answerable for what happened after. --I don't think they'd have a problem   
with you, though. They won't stay in the area during Autumn, during hunting season   
but other times they come through what we call the Hills of the Hunters, that   
range of high country above the rivers -- you might have seen them, though the   
rains were pretty dense lately, I don't know how well -- 

**Beren**: [enthusiastic]   
I saw those -- they reminded me of home, of the uplands by Aeluin. Beautiful   
country. I'd like to explore it someday. 

**Captain**:   
We'll have to take you on patrol up there, when this . . . business of yours,   
is over. Introduce you to the tribes and the Eldest Voices. 

**Beren**:   
I would be much grateful, sir. 

[the shadow is gone between them] 

**Steward**: [sighs]   
Well. I should return to my work. 

**Captain**:   
Making sure Himself doesn't forget to eat? 

[The Steward nods. His eyes are haunted and his confidence is vanished.] 

**Beren**:   
Sir. . . My lord Edrahil . . . ? 

[the Steward looks at him gravely] 

Would it please you to keep this? 

[He offers, again correctly point-inward, Belegund's knife] 

My sword-brother, heart-brother, my kinsman is honored in your remembrance   
of him. If it would mean anything to you . . . 

[The Steward takes the knife and bows deeply. He fastens the sheath to his belt   
before replying.] 

**Steward**:   
You do me honor, Lord of Dorthonion. I'll see you at the King's table, after times. 

[He leaves them] 

**Beren**: [quietly]   
I'm sorry to trouble you all. That wasn't what I came here for. 

**Captain**:   
We know. -- You're taking this remarkably calmly. 

**Beren**:   
I've had five winters, and more, to accustom myself to the fact of our doom.   
None of this is really new, even -- I just never thought about it all at   
once like this. Some of it I've already faced through, and the rest of   
it -- will come back with nightfall and I'll meet it then. Now -- is   
meanwhiles. 

**Soldier**:   
I remember that being the way of your people, my lord.   
[softly]   
It seems very strange to us. 

[long pause -- not hostile but filled with mutual regret and incomprehension --   
broken by the entrance of Lord Gwindor, sans the Princess, but with a couple of   
other citizens of Nargothrond as Beren once again tries to finish breakfast.] 

**Gwindor**:   
Gentles -- my lord Beren -- 

**Captain**:   
-- Where's your better half, lad? And what about your practice, eh?   
We missed you at the pells. 

**Gwindor**:   
They've kept us busy running to the archives and subarchives all night.   
Fael-- 

[blushes and goes on self-consciously] 

-- Finduilas is still there, but she wanted me to make sure that Lord   
Beren was being properly looked after. 

**Captain**:   
Well of course he is! --I imagine your friends were just a little curious   
themselves -- not to mention jealous? 

**Gwindor**:   
That too, sir. 

**Lady**:   
How amazing! I've never seen a mortal before. 

[she turns his chin to better see his face; again Beren is amused rather than   
offended by Elven foibles, fortunately.] 

He looks almost like a person, doesn't he? 

**Lord**: [oblivious to the Looks they are getting from the veterans]   
Indeed he does, my dear. --What news do you bring from Doriath, sir? 

**Beren**:   
? . . . ? 

**Captain**: [coldly]   
Someone's been talking rather a bit more than they ought. Now I know it   
wasn't me, and I'm fairly certain it wasn't Edrahil, and I'm reasonably   
sure that His Majesty isn't the one either. 

[narrows his eyes at Gwindor, who somehow manages to look both hangdog and   
stiff-necked at once.] 

Pah, what am I saying? This is Nargothrond. If a whale sneezes in Brithombar   
Harbor, everyone knows about it in the Caves by nightfall -- even if it didn't   
happen. As the King well knows. 

**Beren**: [awkwardly]   
Excuse me, but my business is now the King's, and for him to make public when   
he feels the time is right. I'm sorry -- no offense meant. 

**Gwindor**: [sudden realization]   
You must have had to cross Dungortheb! Is it as dreadful as rumors   
have it? Can you tell us about your adventures there? 

**Beren**:   
No.   
[relents slightly]   
To tell you about it I would have to remember it, and I will never, ever   
visit that country again. 

**Lady**: [surprised]   
Do mortals also know the Living Memory? I thought not -- or so I'd been   
led to understand. 

**Beren**:   
I don't know about other mortals. I only know that I am never going there again. 

[awkward silence] 

**Gwindor**: [desperately changing subject]   
So -- my lord, how do you find Nargothrond? 

**Beren**: [relieved]   
Beyond all description. The reports don't do it justice. I've only seen a tiny   
bit of it, of course. 

**Lord**:   
Is it finer than Thingol's place? I've never been there. 

**Beren**: [tactfully]   
Ah . . . it's a lot more . . . detailed, than Menegroth. 

**Lord**:   
But do you find it better? 

**Beren**:   
Well. I -- That's hard to say, I -- didn't see very much of Menegroth at all. 

**Lord**:   
But, given what little you've seen of Nargothrond, compared to the little   
you saw of Doriath, which would you say is the superior construction? 

**Beren**: [trapped]   
. . . 

**Lady**:   
Darling, don't be tiresome. You can't expect him to be able to explain   
such things -- they're not in the mortal understanding. 

[Beren raises his eyebrows; the Rangers look affronted on his behalf.] 

**Beren**: [more patient than sarcastic]   
I did grow up speaking Elvish at home -- 

**Lord**: [aside to his companions]   
Well, after a fashion--! 

**Beren**: [ignores this]   
-- it's as much or more my native speech as Taliska. I don't answer because   
I don't want you to think me ungrateful, is all. I -- and this is purely a   
matter of my own preferences, not anything to do with which is finer overall,   
or whether I am even fit to make those kind of judgments -- I have to say, that   
I liked what I saw of Menegroth better. It's like the forest becomes stone   
as you go down into it, not like you're going into a cave really. There are all   
kinds of animals carved into a kind of illusion of life, and then there are   
ones I've never seen and don't recognize. I think maybe they're from Aman, but   
I never got the chance to ask. So I found Menegroth preferable, for that reason. 

**Lord**:   
But how could you in any way find the wild woods superior to a work of art   
like our glorious citadel? 

[before Beren can correct him] 

I know, I know, 'preferable.' What's out there that's not in here?   
Explain what's so amazing about the wilderness. 

**Beren**: [unthreatened, accepting challenge]   
All right. 

[thinks for a moment] 

I saw this thing once: pine needles after the winter like a red pelt   
around the roots, patched with sun and snow in spots of white.   
--All of the sudden they leapt up and danced away before my eyes. 

**Captain**: [to self]   
Hah. That's good. --That's very good. 

**Lord**:   
Did a strong breeze come up and blow them away? 

**Beren**:   
Nope. 

**Lady**:   
I think it's a metaphor. 

**Beren**: [encouraging]   
Could be. 

**Lady**:   
One tree, considered as a paradigm for the passing of the seasons, elided to a   
metaphorical instant? 

**Beren**:   
Mm . . . 'fraid not. 

**Gwindor**:   
'Red pelt' -- is it a fox under the trees? 

**Beren**: [regretfully]   
No, not quite. 

**Ranger**:   
It's a spring fawn called by its mother, correct? 

[Beren nods; the court folk frown, smile, discuss amongst themselves] 

**Beren**:   
And then one time I saw something else: a brown leaf on a dry branch   
uncurled itself and spun away on the wind, becoming red and gold   
as it went to join the last year's leaves. 

**Lady**:   
Oh, it's a time paradox, I'm sure -- about mortality, am I correct? 

**Lord**:   
No, I think it's like the last one. Some kind of natural phenomenon again. 

**Lady**:   
Forgive me for rejecting your supposition, but it must be a mortal version   
of that saying about blossoms never returning to their branches. 

**Lord**: [shaking his head]   
I think it's a kind of butterfly. I've seen them whilst out hunting in the   
forest -- they resemble a dead leaf, and then they unfurl their wings and   
reveal such manner of bright colors inside. You must have noticed them, surely. 

**Lady**:   
But butterflies don't uncurl. --You did say 'uncurl,' not 'unfurl,' did you not? 

[Beren nods again] 

**Lady**:   
So which is it? An insect? Or an image of the forward rush of Time that   
cannot be turned back in its stream? 

**Beren**: [kindly]   
You're both right. The 'brown leaf' is the shell of the creature whose past   
generations are all dead in the winter, and when spring comes it splits and   
unrolls itself all wet, and when it dries out, it flies down to the forest   
floor looking for food in the new flowers. I don't know what your name for   
them is, but we call them gledewings, because the hidden side of them   
looks like a hot coal. But we also say it's a sign of the gods -- the Hidden   
Fire that moves all Ea, and the Butterfly that Elbereth put into the stars   
to remind us that Life is ever stronger than Death. 

**Lord**: [astonished]   
Indeed! -- wherever did you learn all that? 

**Beren**:   
In the woods behind my house. --And from my parents. 

**Gwindor**: [sharply]   
I'm not sure why you're so surprised. All his family's been as quick-witted   
as fell-handed. 

**Lady**:   
We only came here after the Dagor Bragollach. It merely seems as though it's   
been longer, Gwin. 

**Beren**: [who has gone off in a bit of a reverie]   
And then this other time, not in the woods but on the heath, there was a sudden   
rainstorm that blew over, and on the granite outcrop where I was lying, the dip   
in the stone filled with water about as deep as a hide's thickness, and I saw in   
it the sky blue as a field of flax-flowers in the days before the harvest, and   
sun and moon both in the sky together and the Heavenly Arch, all at once. 

[silence] 

**Lord**:   
I can't even begin to guess. 

**Lady**:   
Don't you think it's a parable of the deceptiveness of surface appearances? 

**Lord**:   
No. What does it mean, Lord Beren? 

**Beren**:   
Huh? -- Oh, no, that's just something that happened. I thought it was   
really great. It kind of made up for the rest of the day. 

**Lady**:   
Getting rained on? 

**Beren**:   
Getting shot. I was in too close and I think they cracked a rib.   
One of those 'Things To Remind Yourself: Mithril Stops Arrowheads,   
It Doesn't Stop Momentum.' 

**Lady**:   
[to her consort]   
I still think there's some deeper meaning in that last one. 

**Lord**:   
[to Beren]   
It really shouldbe a riddle -- it isn't appropriate to stop at two, you know. 

**Beren**:   
I'm sorry. I just thought of those now, and somehow the third one never   
made it to the dinner table. 

[to the subsequent odd looks] 

It's a saying--? Which I guess you don't use. I'm afraid I don't know what it   
means, either. 

[catches the Captain's sleeve and draws him down to whisper:] 

Sir, I understand you're set to guard me. Would you please disarm me, or else   
send all these folk away, because I swear I'll savage the next person interrupts   
my meal -- 

**Captain**:   
Everyone! Be off. Get back to work, get to your posts, find some work to do   
or keep the gossip-weave lengthening. Milord is not a spectacle to gawk at. 

[Chagrined, the Ranger and the other veterans leap to attention and hurry away.] 

**Lord**:   
I say, can he talk to us like that? 

**Gwindor**: [dry voice -- embarrassed by his friends]   
Well, it certainly seems that way. My lord -- I'll see you at Council presently. 

[He drags his companions away] 

**Beren**:   
Thanks. --Sorry. 

[He sets to in hopes of clearing his plate without other incident] 

**Captain**:   
I was remiss. 

**Beren**: [between mouthfuls]   
You can talk, I can listen. Am I so much weirder than my ancestors? 

**Captain**:   
Well, let's see. Old 'Fetters' sent his top commander and an army of wolves   
into North Beleriand because the Orc-bands wouldn't go after you any more, and   
no one, friend or foe, would even try to claim the king's ransom on your head.   
So many stories are told about you that they can't all be true -- only the more   
improbable ones, apparently. And you wonder why people want to come and have a   
look at you? Oh, and you're a veritable child in our reckoning, to top it all. 

[pause] 

**Beren**: [rapidly folding cheese strips into some of the flatbread]   
I must be rather disappointing, then. 

**Captain**:   
You're not mortal enough. Not to them, who have only rumor and theory of mortal   
ways to guide their fancies, and not to us, who have known your people long and   
in many weathers -- you're too much like one of the Green Kindred for comfort,   
and yet there's no mistaking you for anything but a Man. 

[debates, then continues:] 

Then there's the fact that you scarcely need a guard -- were you not so polite,   
I've no doubt you'd hold your own against the throng. Nothing seems to daunt   
you -- though after your experiences, not so surprising. 

**Beren**: [swallowing]   
Oh, I daunt, all right. 

**Captain**:   
Well, you don't show it. It's as if you've inherited all the stubbornness of   
all your ancestors, and then some -- and all their courtesy. It's disconcerting. 

**Beren**: [frowns]   
'Intransigence'. 

**Captain**:   
? . . . ? 

**Beren**: [scraping up the last crumbs from his plate]   
What the King said. 

**Captain**: [wryly]   
He would. He does love the words. --Do you want more? 

**Beren**: [making sure that his extra bread is secure]   
No, I've got provisions. Is there a fountain around, sir? 

**Captain**:   
There's one by the chronometer. 

**Beren**: [looks blank]   
Ah. 

[apologetically] 

--I'm afraid that's a word I don't know. 'Time --'? 

**Captain**:   
'Measurer'. Another of Celebrimbor's Workings. Come on, I'll show you. 

[Beren drops down from the alcove and walks beside the Ranger Captain, not quite   
as though he owns the place, but certainly as quietly as the Elf.] 

**Captain**: [noticing]   
Hm. You wanted to be heard, then, when we took you. 

**Beren**:   
I wanted not to be shot. I think there's a difference, though I couldn't say what. 

**Captain**:   
We'll have to find a Sage and ask. 

[A small group of people are seated near the fountain, Celebrimbor among them,   
discussing something that the son of Curufin is demonstrating by means of an   
elaborate diagram in the air. Ignoring the Nargothronders, who drop the discussion   
and stare at him, Beren plunges his hands into the spill and drinks that way.] 

**Celebrimbor**: [piqued at being interrupted]   
Er -- there is a cup there, Barahirion. 

**Beren**: [innocently]   
A what? 

[keeps the straight face for a second, then grins] 

**Celebrimbor**:   
Do you mock me, sir? 

**Beren**:   
No, my lord -- only myself. 

**Celebrimbor**: [annoyed]   
Where is the purpose in that? 

[Beren shrugs; Celebrimbor snorts and turns away in dismissal] 

**Captain**: [undertone]   
There's another way you differ from your forefathers -- I've not seen that   
subtle and eccentric humor in the Beorings ere now. You must have it of your   
mother's kin? 

**Beren**:   
No -- the sarcasm and the having-to-have-the-last-word comes from the Hador side.   
You probably just never noticed when Da and Uncle Brego were doing it, because   
they never stopped. I'm not as good as they were; I always give it away. 

[long pause] 

**Captain**:   
I think -- I think that perhaps there has been more gentle humor at our expense   
across the ages than ever we knew. 

**Beren**: [blandly]   
Why, sir, who would dare to make jest of the Elves? 

[gets a Look] 

See, I wouldn't have done that if you were one of us, on account of not   
wanting my head shoved in the water. Unless it was summer and not raining. 

**Captain**: [bemused]   
Mortal customs . . . how strange, to take delight in being thought less of --   
but I can think of some who'd be improved by it -- 

[a small chime sounds] 

That's the summoning -- you should see this, as you slept through the last five. 

[steers Beren towards a large and complex artifact of crystal and metals and lights   
which is in subtle motion -- think Myst & sequels, only more so. A crowd has already   
gathered around it in expectation.] 

**Beren**:   
What is it? 

**Captain**:   
It shows the heavens small, in all their moving, and six times a day it calls   
the sixth, so that anyone on this level can hear it. You'll find nothing like   
it elsewhere in the world. 

**Beren**: [a little more loudly than he meant to]   
But what use is it? 

[gets uncomprehending stares from bystanders] 

Don't you always know where the sun is, and the stars, as we do not? 

**Captain**:   
Well, yes -- but one loses track indoors. And it's helpful for arranging   
meetings, or keeping them to sane durations. It also shows the turnings of the   
year, and the Great Years, and many other motions of the sky. 

**Beren**:   
I still can't see what we would do with such a thing. 

**Celebrimbor**: [who has come over to see the mortal be impressed]   
But isn't it a necessity in agriculture, to know when the proper times for, oh,   
planting and, and harvesting are? Or when to breed the animals and to feed them? 

**Beren**: [raising his hands helplessly]   
Yes, but -- the world just changes -- outside at least. It comes as it comes.   
You don't need a -- a -- sculpture for it. 

**Celebrimbor**:   
What about for the War? Setting up ambushes for the enemy at the right time, or   
in the field, to coordinate your troops so that you could all strike in unison? 

**Beren**:   
I'm not qualified to say -- I never took the field that way, except in practices.   
It wouldn't have been very helpful for my work -- too large, for one thing. 

**Celebrimbor**: [sighing]   
It doesn't have to be that large or that ornate. I mean in principle it could   
be a useful thing. 

**Captain**:   
No, actually, not all that useful. Not without being able to see what the rest   
of the field is doing, both ours and theirs. I can see a lot of disasters   
happening if you assumed that everyone was going to move at once -- and then   
they didn't. 

**Beren**:   
Would that be possible? I thought scrying was kind of almost useless for   
practical purposes. But if you could see -- or especially talk -- then   
you could actually avoid patrols -- coordinate groups -- warn -- 

[breaks off] 

**Captain**: [covering smoothly]   
My lord, what ever became of that project of your grandfather's? Wasn't he   
working on a device that would allow one to both see and hear, and be seen   
and be heard, across great distances? 

**Celebrimbor**: [bitter]   
No one was interested. They'd rather ride halfway across the country, never mind   
that it would take days, or sail to the islands, and speak face to face. They   
thought it was pointless and he lost interest. Now, of course, -- but it's too   
late. I don't know what became of his notes, and I was only peripherally involved   
in the Workings. There were some prototypes, but I've not seen them here. I think   
they were forgotten -- 

[The Measurer achieves its zenith and the full carillon rings out, interrupting them.   
Constellations appear, the Moon and Sun rise and sail past, flowers open, animals   
and birds come out and make their circuits, ships cross before them, towers rise and   
fly banners, horsemen ride over their bridges, and finally the stars come out once more   
before it all folds away again to its quiescent state, and the satisfied crowd moves off.] 

I'm still not quite happy with that last, but I've not thought of anything better   
to end it with. 

**Beren**: [laughs out loud with delight]   
So that's its use -- it's just beautiful. Like a fountain. --Or a reflection.   
--Or a star. 

[The inventor's expression goes from affront to confusion] 

**Celebrimbor**:   
I assure you, it's more work than that -- 

**Captain**: [aside]   
--More work than the stars? 

**Celebrimbor**: [snide]   
-- but even a fountain is useful -- as I think you'd admit? 

**Beren**: [oblivious to the tone]   
Nah, you don't need a fountain -- you could just have the water pour out into   
a bucket. It doesn't need a frame like a hall-door and a throne for the water   
with different levels so it sounds like a real falls almost. Your -- chronometer --   
could you make it be something different each time? Or -- hey, what about this?   
Couldn't you make it show stories, like a tapestry? Only solid, but moving -- 

**Celebrimbor**: [sharply, almost savagely]   
-- Do you think yourself our equal in art, for having mastered the brute skills   
of battle and slaughter beyond the usual mortal aptitude for such things? 

[pause] 

**Beren**: [unthreatening, as if to a very angry dog]   
No, my lord. I wouldn't begin to understand what you've done here, in another   
year, or ten. I only meant to say what I would make -- if I had any skill at all   
for the making of things -- which I have not. Save traps and ambushes. I cannot   
make anything of beauty -- only dream of it. 

**Celebrimbor**: [mollified, a touch embarrassed]   
It isn't anything much. I've got a knack for it . . . I'm sure you could learn   
some skills, if you put your mind to it. 

[dismisses him from consideration again, goes back to his seminar] 

**Captain**: [exasperated]   
I'm sorry. You can scarcely think us very Wise -- 

[Beren shrugs it off] 

Would it please you to tour the rest of Nargothrond, or as much   
of it as we'll have time for? 

**Beren**:   
Might we go to the kennels, sir? I'd most like to see your hounds. 

**Captain**:   
Of course. I confess that the city often overwhelms me also, and all of us who   
range the woods by preference. The dogs may be importunate, but they'll ask you   
no impolite questions, at least! 

[checks] 

Your pardon, milord -- I spoke too soon. The King summons us to council. 

**Beren**:   
I heard nothing. 

**Captain**:   
I would be very troubled if you had. Please -- come this way.   
  
  


**SCENE V**

  
  
  
  


**Gower**:   
Little knowing of the ways of the older world   
wherein kings contend with craft and cunning,   
(hailing from a simpler land, a simpler folk   
of speech plainer, of ways hardier, making   
no purpose of the twisted paths of curled   
intrigue, nor seeing need for suchlike works)   
Dorthonion's young scion ventures forth   
onto a field of battle where hidden lurks   
such attack as ne'er might he foreguess.   
-- His skills at secret warfare are all plain:   
the ways of stealth, of hiding, of leading 'stray   
the clamoring foe, the hungry beast, with main   
force to smite, or with speed to flee;   
treason knows he indeed, too well -- still   
e'en there the patterns plain and black   
of heart tormented and body wracked   
ask no unanswerable questions of the soul.   
How indeed shall he prepare, defend, when fire   
out of the ancient Ages past spills wide,   
when words wake fear, and greed calls forth desire--?   


[At the entrance to the throne room -- via one of the smaller side doors, not   
the wide and fancy main entrances, that leads in behind a colonnade -- the Captain   
is about to usher Beren in when he stops suddenly.] 

**Captain**:   
What's wrong? 

**Beren**: [quickly lashing the peace-strings around his sword-hilt]   
I forgot to safe my blade again. --Do you need to check the knots? 

**Captain**:   
--Why? 

**Beren**: [shrugs]   
"A stranger, armed, in the King's presence" . . . ? 

**Captain**: [dryly]   
Seeing that it was he who ordered your weapons be returned you, I rather think   
it's all right. But if your scruples insist . . . 

[he gives the hilt an experimental tug] 

Safety's on just fine. Come on -- 

[gesturing Beren through. They pass through the colonnade and out across the   
apse-like area of the upper hall, Beren trailing along behind, staring up at the   
carvings and the vaulted ceilings and the way that natural formations have been   
employed as some of the columns. The Captain pauses to wait for him, amused.] 

**Beren**: [awed]   
How long did it take to make all of this? 

**Captain**:   
Well, so far it's taken about two and a half Great Years. That of course   
includes work on the rest of the place, you understand, not just this hall. 

**Beren**:   
And your Great Years -- one of them's what, a hundred-forty-four years? 

**Captain**:   
That's right, twelve-twelvemonths. But it isn't done yet. Never will be,   
I expect. He keeps tinkering with it -- like that bit over there, that's   
new, I don't think it's been there a score yet. Between that and all the   
other projects he's got going, I'm betting it'll be at least another Yen.   
--Maybe longer. Of course, if it was ever done he'd have to start a new   
one, you know. 

[Beren frowns, trying to fit this into his worldview. They reach the central axis   
of the throne room, coming in right along the dais to where a large table has been   
put lengthwise across in front of the throne itself and about which around sixteen   
chairs are set. 

Arrangement of council: 

Inner side of the table, facing into the hall:   
The King is seated at the middle, presiding over a group of counselors, which   
includes his brother Orodreth (to his right), the Steward (on his left, assisting),   
Finduilas (on her father's right), Gwindor (to her right), Guilin his father (at   
table's end), the Commander of Nargothrond's Cavalry (to the Steward's right) with   
the Soldier from the Fens as his aide (right) and an empty chair on the end. 

Outer side:   
To the left of the empty place on the opposite side is Curufin, beside Curufin   
the Master of the Defensive Illusions, then his Aide (to the left across from   
the Steward), another empty place, and three high-ranking Counselors, at least one   
of whom should be cast as female, befitting a Kingdom headed by Galadriel's wisest   
brother. The table is on the lowest and widest tier of the dais, as in the schematic   
below (assume the dais is slightly curved, despite the ASCII.) 

There is also an Honor Guard present, two stationed by the throne, two behind the   
King's chair (they are among the Guards present at the Relief of Serech, as is one   
of the two beside the throne.] 

_-----_   
G ||Thr|| G   
-- --   
------------------------------------   
  


---------------------------------------------------   
G G   
Gw Fs Or Fi Ed CC Wr   
Gu [Ce]   
C1 C2 C3 [B] Ai Mag Cu 

-----------------------------------------------------------------   
  


**Finrod**: [rising in courtesy]   
My lords -- my lord! Have you enjoyed your rest, and found welcome in my citadel? 

**Beren**:   
Indeed yes, I've at last seen something truly Elven in my stay here, sir --   
that Measurer that sings and shines. 

**Finrod**: [genuinely pleased]   
It's wonderful, isn't it? --And have you found Nargothrond pleasant, to see   
it waking? 

[there is a touch of Elvish -- or artistic -- vanity when he asks:] 

It's never as fair as Menegroth, but it is beautiful, is it not? 

**Beren**: [solemnly]   
Yeah. It's a nice big place you've got here. 

[The King, appreciating the joke, grins; the Counselors look rather taken aback.] 

**Finrod**: [all business again]   
How well do you ride, Barahirion? Have you much skill with horses? It may   
affect our schedule. 

**Beren**:   
Well. None with horses -- but a lot with mountain ponies. 

**Guilin**: [dismay]   
-- Ponies. 

**Beren**:   
Don't laugh, my lord: it's harder than it sounds. They're carnivorous, and prefer the   
flesh of people. Men or Elves, makes no difference, I was told. 

**First Counselor**: [skeptically]   
Carnivorous?

[Finrod covers a smile with his hand.] 

**First Guard**: [whispering]   
I remember those little hellspawn. We should have sent them to fight the wolves. 

**Second Guard**: [whispering]   
I thought they were wolves. 

**Finrod**:   
Still, you'll want some training both to accustom yourself to the height and   
pacing of the Valinorean breed, and to staying in line with the rest of the   
"alquantar." If I recall correctly, your way was to run like a pack of hounds and   
over whatever or whoever's before you. Effective, very inspirational to keep   
up one's best speed, but not really a good idea with lances. A fortnight should   
do it, I think. 

**Beren**: [jaw drops]   
Sire -- I don't -- I really don't think I could learn to ride with your swan-   
flight in two years, let alone two weeks -- forgive me, but I've never used   
a long-spear from horseback, we always would ride and dismount to fight --   
and I've not ridden in seven, eight years -- 

**Finrod**: [dismissing his panic]   
Oh no -- you just need to be able to stay aboard and not crash into anyone   
on the turns. You're not going to take part in charges. It's merely a matter   
of coordination, you already know the basics, and you've got perfect balance.   
You'll do fine. 

**Beren**: [resigned]   
All right. 

[aside] 

I'm going to die. --Or wish that I had, at least. 

[aloud] 

Do I get to ask why? 

**Finrod**: [deadpan]   
Certainly not. 

[pause] 

I'm going to tell you in a minute, so why bother? 

[Confused looks from most of the others who aren't used to mortal-style humor.] 

My friends, my good counselors, those among you who have not yet made the   
acquaintance of The Beoring -- may I present to you the son of our people's   
great friend and far renowned in his own right, Beren Barahirion, House Beor,   
rightful Lord of Dorthonion, whose cause is well-known to all present here. 

[Beren bows to the Council, deeply embarrassed by the introduction] 

Beren, sit down, if you please -- when my good kinsman returns from his   
summons I'll conduct a full overview of the plan we've devised, less the   
more technical aspects that won't mean anything to you. In the meantime if   
you'd care to examine the maps, you may get a better feel for what we'll   
be talking about. Oh, and if anyone here has questions regarding the data   
we've been using, now's the time to ask, as our Chief of Intelligence is   
here now as well and his scouts have supplied most of it. 

[Beren gives the Captain a startled look; the Captain innocently gives him his   
best I'm-just-a-simple-Ranger expression. A little nervously Beren goes to the   
empty place at the end of the table, where the chair is already pulled out.] 

**Curufin**: [dryly]   
Don't push it, Beoring. 

[sees Beren's confusion and sighs] 

I've been given to understand that your rustic background and long removal   
from anything slightly resembling civilization account for your uncouth   
behavior and am willing to make admissions -- but my brother is not quite   
as patient as myself. 

**Beren**:   
? . . . ? 

**Curufin**: [exasperated]   
That's his place. Anchor seat, next to me, focal point -- ring any bells? 

**Beren**:   
Oh. Oh, I'm very sorry, I wasn't trying to be rude -- 

[goes to empty chair at center, across from Finrod; the Captain pulls it out   
before he can struggle with it and squeezes his shoulder before going over to   
talk shop with his counterparts. The maps on the table are not merely parchment,   
but are "active" with scalar projections and live indicators, like the topograph   
projections in Myst only much prettier. Fascinated, Beren keeps running his finger   
through the intangible array; when the Army Commander and his Aide get up to join   
the discussion on the other side of the table about seasonal cover along the   
watershed, he notices Curufin staring at him.] 

**Beren**: [wry]   
I think this is what you call a "map," right? 

**Curufin**: [a trifle drawn despite himself, almost genuinely playful:]   
That it is. --Ever seen one before? 

**Beren**:   
Not like this, I haven't. 

**Curufin**:   
Not quite so blasé about us Firstborn and our accomplishments now, hey? 

**Beren**: [doing his darnedest to earn the trust put in him]   
Your son's amazingly skillful, my lord. That -- chronometer of his is truly   
the finest work of craft I've seen. You must be very proud of him. 

**Curufin**: [grimacing, and totally sincere for once]   
He doesn't apply himself. He could do so much more if only he would concentrate   
on his own projects and not try to run all these other mentoring programs at   
the same time. But he's got no focus and people take advantage of him for it. 

**Beren**:   
Well, it's good of him to take the time to teach, though. 

**Curufin**:   
At the expense of perfecting his own art? 

**Beren**:   
I thought that's usually how crafts work, whether handcraft or lorecraft. 

**Curufin**:   
Among your folk, perhaps, where there's such a short time limit to accomplish   
both the practice and the transference. Among us it's a sign of mental, even   
moral instability, not to carry a thing to completion. 

**Beren**: [nods]   
I can see how that would work. 

[frowning] 

Would it be impertinent to ask you a question, my lord? 

**Curufin**:   
Well, that rather would depend on the question, I should think. 

**Beren**:   
I've noticed you wear an unsheathed long-knife, unlike anyone else here. Is there   
a reason for it? 

**Curufin**:   
Yes. Angcrist would cut right through anything I tried to keep the blade in. 

**Beren**:   
Even mithril? It's truly that sharp? 

**Curufin**:   
It is. --I think your kind would call it "magic." 

**Beren**:   
But isn't that really dangerous? Couldn't you rig some kind of, oh, framework   
around to at least have a barrier so people wouldn't hit it by accident, so   
you wouldn't cut yourself? Like a fire-cage only smaller? I mean, we do have   
that tradition of the Vow of the Unsheathed Sword (though that's more one of   
those things in songs and tales really) but it just seems awfully risky to me. 

**Curufin**:   
I think you're assuming that the same conditions obtain to the Kindred as to   
Mortals, with regards to kinesthesia -- perception of motion -- and physical   
awareness. We are conscious of ourselves, and all earthly things, in a way   
I doubt you can begin to imagine. Neither I nor anyone else is going to brush   
against it in absence of mind. 

**Beren**:   
So what happens if you trip? It still seems dangerous to me. 

**Curufin**:   
Eldar don't trip. Or do anything by accident -- my lord. 

**Beren**:   
That must be nice. 

[He is completely sincere, but Curufin gives him a suspicious look anyway] 

And I suspect it's a lot more intimidating that way, too. 

**Curufin**: [guarded approval]   
You're not as dumb as you look, boy. 

**Beren**: [grins]   
That's a good thing, I guess? 

[Once again Curufin has to resist the impulse to join in, not mock, but succeeds   
admirably nonetheless. The King, however, notes Beren's restraint and good will   
with approval, though Beren doesn't notice.] 

**Curufin**:   
Quite. --So, do you think this mad plan has a chance of succeeding, or are you   
just going along with it for lack of better ideas? 

**Beren**:   
Well, I -- don't know what the plan is yet, so I can't say whether it's mad or   
not, my lord. 

**Curufin**:   
Trust me, it's a mad plan. I've spent the better part of the last half-millenium   
involved in this, as I assume you know, and they don't come any crazier than   
this. If it couldn't be accomplished with thousands upon thousands of troops   
and virtually unlimited support, I seriously doubt that anything less has a   
prayer of succeeding. 

**Beren**:   
It's all about doing the unexpected. If they think you might do something, then   
your enemies will guard against it. If you've done it before, they'll put twice   
as many guards around to make sure you don't do it again. If you go around the   
other way, they stand there scratching their heads wondering what hit them, and   
then they put guards over there. I've seen it countless times. Seems silly, but   
no one can be everywhere, and if you can't imagine something, you can't imagine   
someone else doing it either. 

**Curufin**:   
Well. You're quite the strategist, aren't you? 

**Beren**: [sighs]   
Unfortunately. 

[Celegorm enters and goes straight to his brother's side] 

**Celegorm**: [aside to Curufin]   
--All of the Hindmost, or Sindar. None of our people are on duty. 

**Curufin**: [low voice]   
Interesting. Most interesting. 

**Finrod**:   
Is something wrong, cousin? 

**Celegorm**:   
No, no, everything's fine, old chap. Carry on. 

[takes the place at the end of the table] 

**Finrod**:   
Thank you. If everyone would please be seated . . . ? 

[The knots of individual discussion break up and the council members take their   
original places; the Captain returns to Beren's side of the table and takes up   
station behind his chair. (This makes Beren a bit twitchy because although he   
knows it's an honor, he's not used to having or allowing anyone behind him.)] 

To sum up very quickly for you, the plan is to set out from here and move   
northward (again, very quickly,) with the lightest accoutrements possible and   
in three flights, each slightly staggered from the other, each advanced by   
half-a-day before the next. When we arrive here, we'll kite across the valley   
of the Sirion to ford here, angling back upwards there, and vectoring past   
Tol Sirion altogether to hit Serech higher up here, where the flats are covered   
with shallow water but it's not soft enough to bog us down, splash through to   
the edge of the plain and form one Great Wing to rush straight across -- and   
over -- whatever's before us to Eithel Sirion. I'm sure you and my cousin will   
have a great deal to talk about before we regroup for the infiltration part.   
We'll ride straight through each night and rest by day as we must, and take care   
not to get tangled up in any engagements but leave them in our dust. Or mud,   
depending-- 

**Beren**: [interrupting]   
--Is that possible? 

[blushes] 

--Sorry. --Your Majesty. 

**Finrod**: [unfazed]   
I think so. 

**Beren**:   
I mean, what about the horses? We can go all day, but they can't, can they?   
Not without us changing mounts, right? 

**Finrod**:   
The Valinorean horse is not like that native to Middle-earth. 

**Someone**: [not loud enough to reveal which of the Council but definitely Noldor]   
Either. 

[The Captain shoots a got-your-number Look down that end of the table.] 

**Beren**:   
And when we get there? 

**Finrod**:   
You'll have a bit more to do than staying on then. We've some scaling devices   
to assist us and of course all will be stealthed, but we're still going to have   
to manage the climbing work ourselves along with despatching all sentries and   
resistance we encounter. The goal will be to encounter as little as possible --   
it's a snatch-and-grab operation, not a havoc mission. And we have minimal data   
on the interior of Angband, except for some antiquated descriptions dating back   
to the last successful engagement with Morgoth, which are certainly inaccurate   
and misleading. 

**Beren**: [frowning at the animated displays on the maps]   
So essentially we're sneaking into the Enemy's fortress via the mountains and   
trying to get as close to the target as we can without being noticed, figuring   
out a route as we go, and we don't know what the terrain looks like, only we know   
that it isn't like what it used to be? 

**Finrod**:   
Essentially. 

**Beren**:   
Got it. How are we going to locate the jewel? 

**Finrod**:   
Well, "down" is said to be a good direction, as far as Morgoth is concerned, and   
Lords Celegorm and Curufin have attested that they can perceive within a farther   
distance-range than any other Elf the presence of the Silmarils, so we shouldn't   
have to spend too much time-- 

**Celegorm**: [interrupting]   
Wait a minute, wait a minute, what do you mean, "Got it" --? He says "We're running   
blind into the midst of the greatest concentration of enemy forces to be found,"   
and you say, "Got it" --? 

**Beren**: [shrugs]   
It's what I do, my lord. 

**Celegorm**:   
Oh, you're the outlaw! --I didn't recognize you, all cleaned up. 

**Beren**: [solemnly]   
Amazing stuff, that hot water, my lord. 

[to the King] 

--The only thing I'm not sure about is how you said everything will be stealthed   
and how we're going to be avoiding most of the trouble along the way. I know what   
I would mean by it, but I was getting the feeling that it meant something different. 

**Finrod**:   
Those are the technical aspects which are not going to require you to do anything   
at all. Each flight will have a full complement of Illusionists and Seers to   
forestall observation and anticipate enemy contact-- 

**Beren**:   
Got it. 

**Finrod**: [to his Commander]   
A question, Lord Commander? 

**Cavalry Commander**:   
Yes. One. Does he have to come with us? 

**Finrod**:   
Yes. No sense in leaving any unnecessary legal loopholes. I enjoy an argument   
as much as Elu does, but priorities have to stay in proper order. Don't worry,   
it'll work out. 

**Celegorm**:   
Cousin Finrod, could we go over those technical aspects in rather more detail?   
I confess freely, I'm a simple soul, and I prefer plain hunting and plain dealing,   
as well as plain fighting -- this talk of scribbling back and forth and stealth   
confuses me. 

**Finrod**:   
Certainly. Master of Illusions, would you be so good as to attend and correct me   
if I've ommitted any of the necessary elements in -- 

**Beren**: [breaking in]   
Oh there was one other thing -- how are we coming home? Won't they be waiting   
for us? 

**Curufin**:   
Not more than usual, my lord, seeing as that we'll be returning by the way of   
our siblings' holdings in the East, and thence to Doriath. 

**Beren**: [nodding]   
Got it. 

[Finrod, carefully expressionless, sets to an intense technical discussion with the   
Mage and Celegorm over diagrams] 

**Aide**: [to Beren, curious, not trying to be rude]   
Is this how it goes at mortal councils? Interruptions and absence of formality   
and all? 

[Across the table Finduilas gives Beren a sympathetic grimace] 

**Beren**:   
Um, yeah, except there was usually more table-pounding. 

**Guilin**:   
Table-pounding? 

**Beren**:   
Yeah. 

**Gwindor**:   
--I'm sure it's figurative, Father. 

**Beren**:   
No, it was loud, mostly. After my aunt died things got a little quieter 'cause   
Ma wouldn't put up with beer in the tablecloth or on the floor, but it was literal   
all right. 

**Curufin**: [innocently]   
Care to give us a demonstration, eh? 

**Beren**:   
Oh, no, I think I'll pass -- I see your drinking-ware is mostly glass, and I hear   
that's fragile stuff. 

**Curufin**:   
Pity. --These cultural survivals from antiquity are always so fascinating. 

**Beren**:   
All right, how about when we get back? Only we need ox-horn vessels full of beer   
so we can do it properly. 

**Defense Aide**:   
Beer? That's that foul drink you people make out of bread, isn't it? 

**Beren**:   
Er, not really. It has grain and yeast and water for ingredients, but -- different   
recipe. 

**First Counselor**: [grimly]   
I remember King Finrod tried making some once. 

[Bleak expressions of remembrance on those attending to the discussion] 

**Beren**: [interested]   
Was it any good? 

**Orodreth**:   
If by good you mean, "palatable", the answer is a most definite no, my Lord   
Barahirion. If by good you mean "similar to the original pattern", then I cannot   
say, as I was never able to force down enough on our visits to Brethil to make   
any sort of accurate observations as to its flavor. 

**Beren**:   
Oh, Brethil. The Haladin might be valiant warriors, but they make wretched beer   
-- it's mead, actually. For real ale you have to start with mountain stream   
water and sweet grain from Ladros. 

**Orodreth**:   
I have on occasion imbibed both, and -- I fear I could distinguish no   
difference whatsoever, milord. 

**Cavalry Commander**: [impatiently]   
Gentles, is this in any way, shape, form or nebulous parallel relevant to the   
discussion at hand or the matter thereof? 

**Beren**: [deadpan]   
I thought you folks wanted to see how mortals do this council thing. That's   
probably enough. --So what do you want me to do? Am I actually going to be   
riding in the angle? Which rank? Front or back? 

**Cavalry Commander**: [mincing no words]   
That depends on how horrible you are. I'm saying at the outset, primaries   
or heart, because I want you where you'll bring down the fewest when you fall   
off. 

**Beren**:   
Oh, good. Fewer to step on me, right? 

**Cavalry Commander**: [nods]   
That too. We'll see how you do. --And what the King says. 

[bitterly] 

Ponies! 

**Celegorm**: [calling from background]   
Well, what's your final verdict, brother? Advise me with your shrewd counsel   
-- should we go along with this, or is it suicidal madness? 

**Curufin**: [thoughtfully]   
Everyone here knows I think it's insane. Just for the record. But -- I am   
reminded by the Heir of Dorthonion that the unexpected may well succeed,   
and that daring is usually more than adequate to carry the day against   
an unprepared -- or overprepared -- adversary. And cousin Finrod's plan is   
certainly as daring as it is well-prepared. 

**Finrod**:   
Thank you, cousin. 

**Beren**:   
If it's any consolation, my lord, the ground is very steep where I grew up, and   
the terrain quite rugged. I'm used to difficult conditions. 

**Cavalry Commander**:   
Scant. I'm not happy at all about letting a mind-deaf mortal near my horses,   
you should know. I'd far rather have you ride pillion as per when we take the   
archers to the front, but you're too coarse-boned for that with the distance   
we have to to cover. If you're rough with them in practice I will find ways   
to make you regret it, though. 

**Beren**:   
I used to be passable. Long time back I could even do the shooting-from-the-   
saddle thing and get maybe one wolf in three. 

**Cavalry Commander**:   
Really. 

**Beren**:   
Really. All right, maybe it was closer to one in four. It was kind of a showing-   
off thing, more than anything else. 

**Cavalry Commander**:   
Forgive me if I appear skeptical, but that would require use of both hands,   
would it not? What about your reins? 

**Beren**:   
What about 'em? I knotted the leathers so we wouldn't trip on them. 

**Cavalry Commander**: [clearly unconvinced]   
Indeed. 

[His ADC tries to get his attention] 

--Yes? 

**Warrior**:   
Sir -- Huan trusts him. And Barahir was always good to the little fiends --   
even though I wanted to beat them, because they Just. Don't. Listen. And   
they're wicked, even if they're not Evil. 

**Cavalry Commander**: [eyeing Beren]   
Hmph. 

**Warrior**:   
Not all bad, though -- at least the "not listening" part -- a mind-linked   
rider terrified out of any pretense of rationality on an already-terrified   
steed is a very, very bad combination. And a mountless courier's precious   
little use in a redoubt scenario when the nearest help's Stars-know-where.   
Vicious half-wild mountain ponies having to be head-wrestled at all times,   
at least don't care if they've just lost their own rider, or whether their   
master is having Premonitions of Cosmic Doom, or pick up the images from all   
down the line of things past Elven, let alone equine, contemplation -- they   
just want to get away from the fires and maybe get a few good bites in   
along the way. 

**Cavalry Commander**: [shrewdly]   
I've never heard you talk about the Battle from a personal standpoint. 

**Warrior**:   
Very sorry, sir. I thought I was being impersonally-abstract enough. 

**Finrod**:   
. . . So does that answer all your remaining questions, then? Have I left   
anything out that you can see? 

**Curufin**: [looking at his brother, not at the King]   
I rather think so, myself -- and you? 

**Celegorm**: [answering the other question as well -- We'll go for it]   
Oh yes, absolutely. 

[standing] 

There's just one thing in all this that you're forgetting, kinsman. 

[draws his sword and clangs it down on the table in front of them, declamatory:] 

"Be he friend or foe or demon foul   
of Morgoth Bauglir, be he mortal dark   
that in after days on earth shall dwell,   
shall no law nor love nor league of Gods,   
no might nor mercy, nor moveless fate,   
defend him for ever from the fierce vengeance   
of the sons of Feanor, whoso seize or steal   
or finding keep the fair enchanted   
globes of crystal whoso glory dies not,   
the Silmarils. We have sworn forever!" 

[Dead silence. All are as if in shock at the first overt invocation of the Oath   
in centuries which is now loosed again into the World. Only Finrod is completely   
calm and unaffected by it] 

**Finrod**:   
My lord my cousin, I thought we had settled this matter to honor's   
satisfaction for all concerned. 

**Celegorm**:   
How could we possibly have settled it, when it's not even begun? But we   
will settle it. 

[The Sons of Feanor segue back and forth seamlessly between Good Cop/Bad Cop   
and Smart Chap/Simple Chap routines throughout the "debate" -- and shamelessly.] 

**Curufin**:   
Not that this insanity has a hope of success, of course -- but on the off   
chance that whatever whimsical force exists to unbalance the plans and careful   
calculations of thinking Elves is ruling this hour, we want to make our position   
perfectly clear. There can be no compromise on the matter of the Silmarils. Not   
even to temporize, not even temporarily. --If that's what you really intend. Cousin. 

**Finduilas**:   
I should think you'd want even one of them out of Morgoth's control, no matter   
who got it, just because of what he did to your father! And it's for a good cause.   
You should be ashamed of yourselves! 

**Curufin**:   
Be quiet, Sparkly, and let the grownups talk. 

[to Gwindor, preemptively:] 

Sit down, pup, and learn to control your temper if you don't want to go   
West early -- 

[to Guilin, before the rest of the Council has a chance to get offended] 

I do apologize, good sir, but the role of impetuous youth at High Councils is   
to watch, listen, and learn in respectful silence from those older and wiser   
than they -- or so I've always believed, gentles. 

**Second Counselor**: [evidently has resented the kids' presence at sessions]   
It's good to hear somebody saying that, finally. 

**Finduilas**:   
Father! 

**Orodreth**:   
Your comments are offensive, Curufin -- 

**Curufin**: [interrupting, coldly:]   
--But correct. The fact that you are offended by them is irrelevant. 

**Celegorm**: [lazy smile]   
After all, it isn't as though you can exactly throw us out now, is it? 

[There is a silence, Finrod expressionless, the rest looking apprehensive but   
generally in agreement] 

**Beren**:   
Wait, wait -- why not? What exactly do you two do around here, anyway? Except   
help out the King's huntsmen, sort of, when you feel like it? 

**Steward**: [urgent]   
My lord, please. 

**Captain**: [aside-but-loud-enough-to-be-heard-by-everyone]   
--Good question, actually. 

**Third Counselor**:   
Your question, sir, is as rude as it is ridiculous. There are the sacred   
rules of hospitality, that are surely even known to mortals, which forbid   
the refusal of shelter to any guest -- and so much the more when guest is   
also of one blood and family. 

**Beren**: [shakes head]   
No, gentles, I'm sorry but I'm not seeing it at all -- when times got harder,   
we had a lot of people staying with us, and most of them were kin some ways or   
other, and they always were expected to do their own chores and contribute to   
the general running of things. Anyone who wouldn't abide by the house rules   
could just go build their own fort someplace else. Too much at stake to play   
dumb games over how the wood gets stacked or the blankets folded or the dinner   
cooked -- or-- 

[glances at Finrod] 

--who stands what watch. 

**Master of Illusions**:   
You do not understand, Edain: after the Battle our losses were so great that   
without their forces joined to ours we would have been sorely pressed to defend   
our borders and to also maintain the city as it requires -- it's not as easy   
as you might imagine -- and their assistance has proven indispensable. 

**Beren**:   
Oh -- you'd be surprised what turns out not to be indispensable after all, after   
you haven't got it any more. 

**Celegorm**:   
I think -- that anything this important -- ought not to be decided in secret.   
Shouldn't the folk of Nargothrond be allowed to at least know what arrangements   
their master is making for the disposition of their future? 

**Curufin**: [silk-smooth]   
I think my elder brother is correct. 

**Steward:**   
I do not see, my lords, that there is any need to advance the schedule for the   
public hearing -- 

**Second Counselor:** [interrupting]   
As a matter of fact that strikes me as an excellent idea. The more minds, the   
more vision and clarity brought to the matter, the more fresh air can only   
sweep through, would you not agree, Sire? 

[All look at the King] 

**Finrod**: [blandly]   
Oh, by all means -- if we're going to have a coup, let us do it properly. 

[He signals to the Guards to go open the main doors and bring anyone who cares to   
come in from the solar and corridors. As the hall fills he rises and goes to stand   
in the center of the lowest tier, but as though he's barely stopping himself from   
pacing; throughout the next part, as the battle for power builds in intensity,   
he becomes increasingly more fey and for longer intervals, like a high-voltage   
line with an intermittent short (which is a rather scary thing to witness, even   
when it's up in the transformers of a high-tension line)--if anyone else were   
operating under halfway normal conditions they would not be crossing him now.] 

**Beren**: [whispering, to the Captain]   
What's His Majesty up to? 

[The Captain shakes his head -- he does not know either. When the assembly hall is   
is mostly full the King claps his hands loudly and addresses the populace at large:] 

**Finrod**: [ploughing straight through and not allowing interruption]   
All right, my people, pay attention! I'll be exceedingly surprised if anyone   
here hasn't some idea of what we've been working on these past hours, but   
listen up and you'll hear it plain, unencumbered by ornament -- or even much   
in the way of organization. If you don't already know, then know this: the   
Man who saved my life in the Dagor Bragollach is dead, but his son lives and   
comes to remind me of my debt to his House -- a debt we all owe to the House   
of Beor, who stood so long at the forefront of our borders against the North.   
He's here seeking aid for what sounds like a quest out of a bard's story, only   
it's the stark truth: to gain permission to wed the princess he loves, and   
who loves him in return, he has been set a task impossible to mortal Men. 

[Beren grows increasingly embarrassed throughout] 

No one here can have forgotten the story of how your King and commanders were   
saved in the darkest hour of the retreat from Ard-galen by mortal valor, when   
had not Barahir of long inheritance of friendship come riding with his shield-   
guard and at great cost of their own blood broken the Orc-leaguer about us and   
delivered us from the Fen of Serech. Few here can have failed to hear of the   
legend of his only son, whose name is terror to the minions of the Dark and   
whose deeds are bitterest gall even to the Necromancer who has galled us so   
these several years. 

[there is a lot of low-level discussion going on in the crowd during this,   
of approving tone] 

But there are limits to what valor alone can accomplish, as alas we know! and   
without our help The Beoring will surely fail, for the condition assigned him   
is to bring back one Silmaril from Morgoth's stronghold. I grant you it's an   
incredibly difficult challenge, and not guaranteed of success, but I've devised   
a plan that makes it at least doable, with minimal likely risk of casualties   
and discovery, which would break Morgoth's teeth in insult and in his repute   
in the eyes of his captains, sowing the chaos which he so loves to sow among   
us his foes, -- and which satisfies honor of all parties, in all points -- or   
would, had not the former Lords of Aglon-and-Himlad suddenly and at very late   
hour discovered cause to balk. 

**Celegorm**: [breaking in as the King pauses to assess the situation on several levels]   
What our kinsman Finrod is leaving out is the following: the princess in question   
is no mortal, but one of our own -- no less than the daughter of Elu Thingol and   
Melian the Maia of Doriath, who instead of responding to such an insolent demand   
with the severity it should have incurred, chose this roundabout, more feelings-   
sparing way of saying -- not in a thousand years. Changes things a bit, doesn't it? 

**Curufin**:   
Moreover, your King attempts to trade upon our honesty and honor by pretending that   
he will arrange a merely formal bartering of jewel and girl and once the exchange   
is done the gem will be returned to our rightful custody. Frankly, since everyone   
knows that no one on this earth will ever give up a Silmaril voluntarily, I'm   
surprised that he's attempting to enlist our support in an outrageous attempt   
to have us cheat ourselves, but then no doubt he thinks us all no more than fools   
and children by comparison to his legendary wisdom -- the wisdom that more than   
halved Nargothrond's fighting force in the execution of his long-thought strategy   
of the Siege! 

**Captain**:   
Oh, please --!   


**Finrod**: [ignoring them]   
-- My cousins, on the other hand, who have been living here these ten-odd years as   
my guests, are now apparently trying to change their status from guests to hosts,   
and would like to convince you that they'll do a better job of it than I. 

**Curufin**:   
Our concern is solely for the people of Nargothrond. 

**Captain**: [loudly]   
Which people? Yours? -- or us? 

**Curufin**: [patronizing]   
Don't worry -- you'll still have a job. 

**Captain**: [as if changing the subject]   
You know, I remember hearing about a couple of field commanders who insisting   
on carrying a mosaic floor everywhere, to go in their field headquarters. Made   
themselves remarkably popular with their support staff and logistics people,   
not to mention the poor slobs who had to carry the thing. 

**Beren**: [amazed]   
Mosaic? That's stone, right? Little stones? How on earth . . .? 

**Captain**:   
On panels, and in boxes, with a lot of effort. --Did you bring it back from   
Ard-galen, milords? No? How many lives did it cost, of soldiers and horses too   
tired from hauling it to run when the fires came? That wasn't a small pavilion,   
as I recall. Was it worth the price to impress everyone with how organized and   
successful your House was? Didn't work, you know. You still had to move in here   
and sponge off of us. I'm sure they were really impressed with your care for   
them. Going to look after Nargothrond the same way? 

**Celegorm**:   
I'm sure I've no idea why you think we're interested in taking charge here.   
We are the eldest heirs of Finwe, and we don't exactly need any other addition   
to our prestige. 

**Curufin**:   
However -- in the event of incompetence and lack of leadership, failures of   
judgment, absence of vision, even -- dare I say -- abandonment of wisdom,   
we would of course stand ready to ready to supply whatever assistance might   
be required, to the best of our ability. 

**Celegorm**:   
And I must say, we've seen Morgoth's mercy of leadership today, or any of the   
rest of it -- except the incompetence. We've heard a great deal about   
responsibility to mortals -- but what about responsibility to Nargothrond? 

**Curufin**:   
After all, it was only their duty after receiving the Grant of Ladros, was it   
not? not to mention your House's generosity in deeding them the northlands in   
the first place. It is not as though the mortals were the only ones to lose kin   
in the late battle against Morgoth. 

[Finrod's expression goes from furious to murderous; Orodreth closes his eyes,   
pained; Guilin frowning nods in agreement; there is a lot of crowd consensus at this.   
Unable to listen any more, Beren jumps up and strides halfway across the dais,   
staring off into the darker apse. Unfortunately, it's hard not to hear.] 

But that is, ultimately, of little concern to us. It's ancient history, so to   
speak. What concerns us -- concerns us all! -- is the Future. What becomes of   
Nargothrond -- of the Noldor -- of all the Kindreds, if Morgoth's ire is roused   
from the past decade's slumber and provoked in such an outrageous manner? 

**Celegorm**:   
In one word -- war. 

**Curufin**: [gesturing offhand towards Beren]   
Do you want your children to end up like him? Homeless, kinless, friendless   
beggars living without even the rustic community of our Dark-Elven kindred?   
Savages scarcely to be distinguisted from the beasts of the forest where they   
dwell -- or worse yet, thralls slaving away in Angband as payment for the rash   
presumption of having chosen to defy the Lord of Fetters? 

**Celegorm**:   
And don't imagine that he won't retaliate -- there's no possible way old Fetters   
is going to take this one quietly. There will be hell to pay, quite literally,   
after the fact -- and for a long time thereafter. --This is assuming of course   
that the mad plan is even executable, that it won't simply result in the loss of   
all involved -- their lives thrown away in an action with nothing in return. 

**Curufin**:   
Obviously if there were any hope of it succeeding we would certainly be the   
first to offer our support -- but we hold our responsibilities as guests of   
Nargothrond no less sacred than your duty of hospitality extended so freely towards   
ourselves. If the leadership of the realm forgets duty towards you, may you not   
then in good conscience seek good leadership? If your overlord chooses for you   
a path that is wrought of disaster, leading only to destruction, is it not your   
duty to take heed for your families, your lives, your lore? And make no mistake,   
this path leads to destruction. 

[Getting into full demagogue cry here] 

If you have no care for yourselves, consider your children -- your sons dead in   
battle, gone for what might as well be forever, or hurt so badly that they fade   
regardless of the breath remaining in them, your daughters injured in the wrack   
of war, trapped in the mindless wreckage of battle that spares not beauty, the   
flames and the falling walls, your life's work both living and breathed forth in   
art all gone, or ruined past repair! Think on your friends and far kinsmen doomed   
to endless war, the heartbreak of civilizations shattered and lore forgotten, the   
songs silenced, the harpstrings mute forever, the holy words lost for good, the   
fountains running red with blood and black with ash, empty the halls where children   
children sang, no sound but that of innumerable mourners, and afterwards a scattered   
and a broken people, remembering not even their own true names, wandering lost in   
forests of shadow and terror, with neither cirth nor tengwar to bear the memories   
of wisdom to after generations, becoming even as than the Turned Ones, as though   
you had never been anything more -- is this the future that you want? Because it   
certainly isn't the one I'm hoping for! 

[it's clear this is having the desired impact on everyone present, the imagery at   
least, if not the implied politics] 

Because what I hope for, for Nargothrond, which is now my adopted home as it is   
your own, is a future in which the great works you have already accomplished here   
in such short time, with such heroic effort in a land that might have been entirely   
new for all the untamed wilderness that surrounds us, all the beauties you have   
made -- are nothing. That's right -- nothing. --Not because they are destroyed, but   
because they are nothing as compared to what we will create in the days to come!   
I do not wish to insult you by naming you cowards, too ensnared by the webs of   
fear and memory of Darkness to go on -- rather I wish to praise you by naming you   
wise, wise enough to move onward in new directions entirely, free of the shackles   
of hidebound tradition and outworn custom. Let us stand together, friends! 

[he pauses, panting, while general acclaim begins to rise in volume] 

**Steward**:   
Lord Curufin? 

**Curufin**: [extremely wary, but hopeful -- winning the King's right hand lord over   
would be the coup of the coup, so to speak] 

What would you like to contribute, my Lord Edrahil? I know that your work must   
give you a particular awareness of the value of civilization and the need   
for cooperation in caring for and preserving it. 

**Steward**:   
I think no reasonable person could disagree with any of the sentiments you've   
so eloquently expressed just now. But, my lord, I cannot tell from your   
words whether you are endeavoring to convey that our King's endeavor will lead   
to war against Morgoth -- which is the state that currently obtains, not peace   
-- or to war against Doriath, stars know why, unless you're planning on starting   
one, -- or to a civil war of your following in Nargothrond against the House   
of Finarfin. --Or all three. In all my years' service in my capacity as Herald   
I never yet heard such a discordant mix of half-lies and half-truths and serpentine   
redoublings of one across the other -- save when we received the occasional   
bribe-and-threaten from across the Leaguer. Would you care to explain in as   
simple language as is possible for you, so that I can render it into plain Sindarin   
for the benefit of everyone else? 

[Curufin looks at his older brother with a You-want-to-take-this? expression] 

**Celegorm**:   
War is war. --As you ought to know. The end result's the same -- burnt cities   
and mourning widows -- wherever it happens, or who's involved. 

[This oblique and shameless reference to the Kinslaying shuts Finrod's partisans   
up for the instant, dumbfounded] 

**Beren**: [finally turning to speak]   
--Look, this is crazy. I'll just do like I was originally going to do, and   
infiltrate Angband by myself. I'm not going to start a civil war here! 

**Celegorm**: [dropping the good-will act]   
If you dare to claim what's ours, we will hunt you down to the ends   
of Arda, mortal. 

**Beren**: [shortly]   
You're welcome to try. 

[to Finrod] 

Sir, with your leave I'll take your intent for action and consider the debt   
paid, and leave myself to remove the occasion for trouble in your realm. 

**Finrod**:   
That's not possible, I'm afraid. 

**Beren**:   
Sure it is. As the party collecting I should be the one to say when it's   
fulfilled, shouldn't I? 

**Finrod**:   
Not for that. --You've never held command in your own right, or ruled over   
your own organization, and there are vast, vast differences. 

**Beren**: [stiffly]   
That may be true, Sire, but I am still as responsible for my own actions. 

**Finrod**: [smiling dangerously, speaking not just to Beren]   
--No, Barahirion, you do not understand. This is not like your Northern   
woodsmen, when your father made suggestion that they abandon their homes and   
holts for the safety of your hall, and they instead thinking, "I cut this   
clearing out with my own hands, and my parents before me, and theirs before   
them, and when fire has burnt or storm has shattered we have rebuilt, and now   
we have laid down our lives to hold it, and surely we can keep on doing so,   
and if not, well then--," chose rather to face the night and perish. These   
are my thanes, my trusted ones, who have taken my name and my glory to shield   
them, while they dwell in the halls I hewed for them, and have been glad enough   
to own themselves Nargothronders while I asked nothing of them. This -- is our   
hedge of thorns. 

[Sees that Beren understands, sort of. To the Counselors and Commanders:] 

Well, then -- you're supposed to be the wisest of the wise, what do you in   
your vast wisdom say to solve this dilemma? What a choice! between on the one   
side the manifold calls of honor, of duty, of friendship, of all the years of   
service given and accepted from the House of Beor, of my own long service to   
build you a home of safety and repose, of the task of our people to waylay and   
harass the Enemy, all these things, so many reasons for! 

[There is silence from his Chiefs of Staff] 

And what have we on the other side? A pair of freeloaders and the rag-tag of   
their glorious Host, who left us waiting on the wrong side of the Sea just a   
short while back, or have you completely forgotten about that? Are we not still   
the greatest Elven dominion this side? Or are you completely intimidated by the   
Feanor mystique? Or have my cousins cast a glamour over you, that you'd sooner   
be shamed before both Kindreds and the Powers themselves, than lose their favor? 

**Guilin**: [sternly]   
Sire, neither are you nor your House themselves Powers either, and it is ill-   
behooved of you to issue ultimatums and demand loyalty tests as though you   
believed yourself a god. We are not children -- nor mortals -- to be lectured   
so by the son of Finarfin: we, no less than yourself, are Noldor of high degree! 

[There is a lot of loud public agreement to this. Finrod freezes in the middle of   
starting to answer, his expression shocked but filled with comprehension of the   
Pattern. A longish pause.] 

**Celegorm**: [snorting]   
I rather think that says it all, cousin? 

**Finrod**: [ironic smile]   
So this is how the game goes, eh? Winner takes all? Like that game where you   
change all the tiles over at a go, white to black, not contending square by   
square, foot by foot for the mastery but at one fell swoop shifting the play   
of power from opposer to victor? Very well. The board is yours. 

[to the rest of the hall, his face very taut, his voice harsh with control:] 

You -- may do what you please. This set is ended, and you'd best find yourself   
another harper to play for you from this day forth. I -- have no choice. My faith   
has been given, and if I refuse to keep it I might as well have died in Ard-galen.   
King or no king, I hold my life a gift of worth enough that I will repay it at   
whatever cost to myself -- and if you are the sort of people who would feel   
otherwise, receiving such a grant, then I am pleased to part from you! 

[a general outcry, all at once:] 

**Orodreth**:   
Finrod, you don't mean what you're saying -- 

**Steward**:   
My lord -- 

**Guilin**:   
These are wild words, Sire -- 

**Third Counselor**:   
Your Majesty, consider well before you stoop to folly -- 

**Finrod**: [interrupts them all]   
What, you will have me here a tame and captive King, to follow when it pleases   
you, and dismiss when it doesn't? You will call me your lord, and pretend to   
obey my rule, and let me work to order your lives when you can't be troubled   
to it yourselves, but when I ask anything of you in return, -- or not in return,   
but merely in duty -- then you will turn deaf ears to me, pretending the   
inconvenient demands haven't been made? 

[shouting:] 

-- NO, I say --! 

[takes off his crown and slams it down on the floor -- it rolls circularly along   
the dais with a ringing sound. Continues, not shouting, but still quite loud:] 

Let us at least have it plain, gentles, without a false plating of silver   
over casting of lead! If you will not trust me, then you will not trust   
me. No one here may say truthfully that I don't take counsel, that I do not   
consider the well-being of all, or that I haven't ruled you well all these   
centuries. Or why haven't you complained before this day, then? But comes   
a time, in peaceful hall as in field of war, that counsel must cease and   
deeds begin. Since you will not allow my leadership, I cannot allow you to   
claim it. 

[to Beren -- very formally and calmly] 

My lord of Dorthonion, I beg you to accept my apologies for failing in my   
assistance to you. But where one had planned to go, alone, two shall surely   
stand better chance. I cannot pledge any more than this, my own sword and   
strength to your aid, -- though I had hoped at least that I'd rate better than   
nothing for a retinue! 

[looks around the hall, not really seeing any of those present] 

Will none of you come with me, then? For the hope of glory, if nothing else,   
or from vanity, so that Nargothrond will have some tiny crumb of pride left?   
Or are you all cowards now? Did every scrap of moral integrity and courage   
get burnt in the Dagor Bragollach as well? Must I be evicted from the refuge   
I built for you with nothing and with no one to take my part? 

[The Steward rises and moves to stand beside him.] 

**Steward**: [gently]   
Sire -- you had only to ask. 

[Finrod gives him a Look of exasperation and apology, still shaking with fury] 

**Captain**: [as quietly]   
Actually, you didn't. 

[over his shoulder, louder] 

--Lads? For the old songs' sake? 

[The two Rangers who were present the night of Beren's arrival and this morning   
come forward with the Soldier and the Guard, ignoring the "don't be insane"   
remonstrating of friends and colleagues in the crowd.] 

Anyone else? It's no different from any other mission: you'll either be coming   
back or faring-forth -- there aren't any safe times, when arrows miss and axes   
don't cut, you ought to know that by now! 

[The Cavalry Commander's aide rises and shoves back his chair -- his chief gives him   
an angry look, and the Warrior stares down his CO and goes across to stand beside   
the King. He is joined by the three Guards who were at the Fens -- the other turns   
away from his friends' expectant looks. Gwindor jumps up, and is grabbed on the   
one hand by his father and the other by hs fiancee, who assail him silently with   
pleas until he sits down, biting his lip in shame, head bowed.] 

Is that it? 

[The Captain looks around at the volunteers, raises an eyebrow] 

Just like old times, eh, Your Majesty? 

[Finrod gives a short bitter laugh] 

**Steward**:   
My lord, what arrangements are to be made for the government of the realm? 

**Finrod**: [shrugging]   
I don't know. It isn't my job any more. 

**Steward**:   
Surely you will not give your city over to these strangers' authority? 

**Finrod**: [offhand]   
No, I don't need to -- Nargothrond seems to have done that for me. 

**Steward**: [giving up on rational persuasion] 

My lord, hear me -- 

[He kneels to pick up the crown and remains on one knee as he speaks:] 

Perhaps they have not realized this yet, and perhaps they choose to ignore   
it, but regardless of what has just taken place, you are still as much their   
King as you are mine. You must not leave Nargothrond leaderless, -- for you   
have not that right, any more than these have the right to do what they have   
done, to set aside this burden unconsidered. You must choose in your turn a   
steward for the realm, to hold it in your absence. 

[The King gives him the Look again, but nods heavily and comes to accept it with   
careful graciousness from his hands] 

**Finrod**: [tiredly]   
Very well. --Orodreth, you're next in line, it's yours by right: if and when   
I come back I look to you to make me a full report on what you've accomplished,   
but until then, it's all yours -- Catch! 

[He tosses the crown to his brother] 

**Orodreth**: [catching it and looking at it in dismay]   
What can I possibly say in return? I cannot even thank you without sounding like   
a hypocrite, as though I wished for this -- or as though I'm mocking you. 

**Finrod**: [mild tone]   
You're welcome. 

[There is a pause, in which tension seems to dissipate and people look at each other   
all through the hall, seeming slightly stunned] 

**Beren**: [to self, half aloud]   
I thought I'd already known the worst of fear, and guarded against it. 

**Finrod**: [distantly]   
Well. It's always clear after the fact, isn't it? Weird, isn't it, how one can't   
change it, even forewarned, even prepared, no matter how one tries . . . 

**Orodreth**:   
What are you talking about? --Do you mean that nonsense about the dream you had,   
the one that 'Tariel was so worked up about at the housewarming party? You do,   
don't you? 

**Finrod**:   
--Not a dream. --Nothing so clear. 

[lightly] 

Well, one good thing's come of all this -- I won't have to shout at people   
for not building my arbalests and not telling me about it. 

[He is a little short of breath when he speaks] 

**Orodreth**: [earnestly, sotto voce]   
Finrod, you cannot mean this. It's -- insane, utterly and absolutely insane.   
It's all very well to honor one's bargains, but not to the point of self-   
destruction and forfeiture of everything one has worked for. With a little   
careful negotiation I'm sure this unfortunate business can be put behind   
us, you can satisfy your honor with some reasonable grant of assistance,   
and we'll figure out a way to placate the Sons of Feanor -- I know you didn't   
anticipate this, but -- 

**Finrod**:   
You mean you didn't realize this was a possibility? I thought you were the   
shrewd one, brother. Of course I knew it might happen this way: why do you   
think I grovelled so carefully and consideredly to our cousins all day,   
-- and set only guards that I tr-- that I thought I could trust? 

**Orodreth**: [incredulous]   
Are you telling me that you had thought of this beforehand? That this isn't   
some impulsive gesture of yours, but that you actually planned to go through   
with this mad scheme? You really mean to risk throwing away your life for   
the sake of this mortal bravo and his, might I say upon reflection, extremely   
offensive endeavor? Bad enough that you lavished miruvor on him as though it   
were wine, as though he could appreciate it! I know the Beorings saved your   
life once, but you cannot actually believe that there is a real equation -- 

**Finrod**: [quietly but fierce]   
Orodreth -- do you realize what you have just said? -- Because I certainly   
hope that you do not. 

[He stops talking, looking rather pale] 

**Orodreth**:   
Don't take that tone with me. You're not Father. Not that you listened to him   
either. He was right to turn back -- if only you'd shown half the sense -- 

**Finrod**: [interrupts]   
I didn't make you follow me-- 

[checks again, his face drawn] 

**Celegorm**:   
Are you going to take all day, Finrod old chap? Could you hurry it up there,   
do you think? 

[Beren, dead white and shaking with fury, stalks over to the Sons of Feanor.   
Apprehensively the Captain and the Steward trail him, ready to restrain him, but   
he just stops a pace away and stares at them for a a long moment.] 

**Beren**:   
You know what? Orcs don't pretend to be your friends -- they just try to kill   
you. That's the only difference I can see -- 

[Curufin's smile falters for an instant. Celegorm reaches down to shove him away,   
but Beren grabs his wrist and they stand there locked, the Elven prince unable   
to pull away without undignified brawling. Curufin looks over at Finrod, warningly:] 

**Curufin**: [half-lifting his knife from its hanger]   
Leash your hound, cousin. --Leash him, before I crop his ears for you! 

[Finrod's chief officers catch hold of Beren's shoulders, but he does not move at   
their urging, still locking stares and arms with Celegorm.] 

**Finrod**:   
Beor! 

[Beren allows the Captain and Steward to draw him back with them, turning away   
as though the Sons of Feanor are not even worthy of his contempt.] 

**Curufin**: [lightly]   
That boy's a wild animal, brother. I'm surprised our cousin isn't afraid to   
have such a beast at his side. 

**Celegorm**:   
No doubt the wolf's-head will turn on him in time. 

**Curufin**: [evil smile]   
Barahirion: did your mother perchance wear such warg-hide buskins as yourself?   
Was she a warrior, too? --Or were you just raised by wolves, eh? 

[Beren's companions make sure they're blocking him securely, but Beren only   
glances over his shoulder at the Sons of Feanor, almost bored.] 

**Beren**: [coldly]   
My mother was worth ten of you. 

[looks them up and down and sneers] 

--She could have taken you both. 

[While no doubt more loyal than accurate, this assertion is not exactly the   
response that Curufin was anticipating, and he cannot think of anything to   
say for the moment.] 

**Captain**: [softly]   
My lord -- he isn't worth your time. 

**Beren**: [ignoring him]   
When we come back -- you're going down. My word on it. 

**Celegorm**:   
So you do fight against the Eldar, --Elf-Friend. 

**Beren**:   
I hunt fell things. And I keep my promises. 

**Finrod**: [quietly]   
Beren. To me. 

[At once Beren strides over to the King, wheels and drops to one knee at Finrod's   
left side, rips off the peace-bonds, sets both hands on his sword-hilt, and does   
not move. He knows exactly what statement he's making, and Curufin can't match him   
for sardonic looks. The King lays his hand on Beren's shoulder, ostensibly in   
approval, but he is actually leaning rather heavily on him for support.] 

[mindspeech] 

They are no concern of ours henceforth. Hush! Do not speak your thought.   
Attend me -- as did your father in the Fens. 

[Beren, startled that the King is reading his unvoiced worries, and still more so   
by his first encounter with one of the greatest legends of his people, nevertheless   
says nothing, but rises gracefully, continuing to bear Finrod's weight without   
seeming to do so.] 

--It's only a little dizziness. Stay me for a few minutes more. 

[aloud, to Orodreth] 

Brother, we will not trouble you. All I ask is that you ensure we are not troubled   
in our departing, and that my people are not detained or maltreated prior to our   
leaving, which will be as soon as we can possibly make it. 

[At that moment only Beren knows that Finrod can't see straight, and that he's faking   
being okay to a large extent -- and gives away nothing of the King's weakness by his   
stance or expression.] 

**Orodreth**: [bitterly]   
What makes you think I can ensure anything? 

**Finrod**: [low voice]   
I would not ask, if I did not. The people have accepted you. They require your   
authority now, lest they scatter like doves at the shadow of the hawk. You   
must be there for them. Give them such orders as they can obey, and will take   
honor from obeying. Do not contend openly with these rivals. Let the City have   
rest from strife. That's about all I can give you for advice, except -- Good luck. 

**Orodreth**:   
Will you always be walking away from your responsibilities, Finrod? How many   
times does this make? First Mother and Amarie, then Father, then the Host to   
follow this hobby of humans, then haring all over Beleriand setting up a pocket   
empire and not sticking with any part of it long enough to see it through --   
and they laugh at me for running away -- once! Whatever are you going to be   
when you grow up, Finrod? 

**Finrod**:   
What, exactly, would "through" consist of --? 

[stops, shakes head] 

Orodreth, you don't want answers to those questions. I don't do rhetorical well,   
and real answers would take us months, or years. It's late to be bringing all this   
up, and bad timing to set upon me now. I cannot and will not fight with you here,   
under the shadow of the Oath. I'm just asking you, please, to help me prevent   
anyone getting hurt today. 

[holds out free hand to the Prince, who turns away angrily with folded arms] 

**Orodreth**   
Of course I'll do what I can to prevent violence. Of course. But don't expect   
to smile and get away with everything this time. I don't forgive you for   
placing this burden on me -- though why I'm surprised, I don't know. 

**Finrod**: [genuinely confused]   
When have I ever wronged you? By giving you the crown? Should I have given it   
to another? Whom, then? 

[stops suddenly again, sighing] 

--Never mind. 

**Orodreth**:   
Running off with your mortal friends again? Off to play soldier now? 

**Finrod**: [refusing to be drawn]   
Yes. --Edrahil, see that the corridor is cleared and the doors all sealed.   
I don't wish to be cut off, unarmed as I am save for yourselves. I'm fairly   
certain all will respect your authority still. 

[The Steward goes quickly out, his hand resting automatically on the hilt of the dirk   
Beren gave him.] 

**Orodreth**:   
Finrod, you can't be imagining -- 

**Finrod**: [grimly]   
I can imagine anything. I've seen worse. --As have you. 

[mindspeech] 

--Beren. I'm all right. Don't answer me aloud or in gesture. Can you match   
strides with me? And not too fast -- it might come back. Good. Everyone! When   
Edrahil returns we go, and we do not stop until we reach my chambers which have   
been secured to me and mine alone since The Beoring's arrival. There we'll take   
as our base of operations until we depart for good. --Someone get the maps. 

[The Steward reappears in the doorway of the throne room and nods to the King.   
Finrod straightens, shaking off the weakness that has touched him and smiles with   
a somewhat mocking expression.] 

All right, lads, all clear. Form "nernehta" -- only without the shields, of course! 

[Against the hostile watchfulness of the Sons of Feanor across the room and the   
guilty stares of the citizenry, the Ten set themselves into the ancient moving defensive   
formation composed of a doubled wedge, surrounding their King and his liege as they   
sweep rapidly from the scene of the debacle of Nargothrond. On the opposite side of   
the throne room Curufin, Celegorm and their adherents-by-default go the other way;   
Orodreth and the others of the King's family and near-kin remain in stunned disarray.] 

**SCENE VI**

**Gower**:   
In silence Beren now attends upon the King   
-- sovereign at least of the few yet owning him --   
musing on the grievous claiming of the ring's   
right, and how from one wreck to another grim   
(and more so indeed it seems) he moves,   
that catastrophe doth dog his steps --   
until in time needs must shatter all he loves,   
Tho' wherefore truly and for what past slips   
as punishment or payment kens he not. 

[Back in the royal apartments, where the mood of the antechamber is anything   
but peaceful and conducive to thought, Finrod is exhorting his remaining troops:] 

**Finrod**: [urgent and grim]   
My friends, go and make such farewells as you will, to persons or to places,   
and ready what you must. What you lack of gear, from use or wear, speak to   
Edrahil of it, and he'll make sure it's taken care of. Do not engage in   
altercation. That includes -- conversation, discussion, argument whether voice   
or mindspeech -- or looks! -- as well as any physical hostile contact. Even   
accidental -- 

[pointed look at the Ranger Captain] 

-- is strictly to be avoided. I enjoin you, upon your proven loyalty -- obey   
me in this! We cannot afford to have blood spilled this day. I cannot afford   
to lose one of you. 

**Captain**: [without resentment]   
Shall I bond weapons, then? 

**Finrod**:   
Nay, friend, I trust you -- and will not have any of you defenseless. --Be   
careful. 

**Captain**:   
We shall. 

[No one else speaks as they leave, subdued. Finrod looks at the Steward, who has   
not gone with the rest.] 

**Finrod**:   
No farewells? 

**Steward**:   
Not this side of the Sea, my King. 

[Finrod sighs and nods. Stiffly he leans against the table, his shoulders falling,   
now that there are only the three of them.] 

**Finrod**:   
Holy stars -- I've not been so tired in -- ten years. That took everything   
I had and then some, to keep at bay. It nearly had me a time or two there.   
--But Namo and his House will have no occasion to complain of me today. 

**Beren**: [faintly]   
I don't understand what happened. 

**Finrod**: [ironic]   
I prepared for the wrong treason. I warded against Alqualonde, and I should   
have looked back farther -- to Morgoth's Parole. 

[laughs slightly, shakes head.] 

**Beren**:   
You are giving up your kingdom. 

**Finrod**:   
I am their lord -- however ungrateful my people seem, I cannot be their lord   
and consign them to civil war and slaughter unawares. Far better this, a wrong   
but a lesser wrong, and in time reparable. I hope. 

**Beren**:   
But now you are no lord either! 

**Steward**: [ferociously]   
Is he not your lord as well as mine? Or will you too forsake him now? 

[Beren stares at him, shocked, then rips off his sword-belt and slams it down   
on the tiles in front of the King, falling on hands and knees, head bent. Finrod   
gives his Steward a reproachful look.] 

**Finrod**:   
That sword's passed so many times between our Houses that I think we may   
consider it given, Beor. I need no pledges from you, my friend, I know   
what you meant. --Get up, get up! 

[To the Steward:] 

Will you please see to darkening my armor? And Lord Beren's, with your own?   
I need to reconsider what we shall do now, in the time that remains. 

[The Steward nods and leaves the room] 

I mean to be ready to go at sunset, when neither the eyes of dayfarers or of   
nocturnal spies will be on the wing or at their best. Ask for whatever you need   
as well -- 

**Beren**: [urgent]   
No. No, look. My original plan will still work. Give me supplies and a map of   
the passes and I'll leave under the cover of darkness and trouble you no more   
This shouldn't be happening. 

**Finrod**: [shaking his head]   
It doesn't matter. It's happened. 

**Beren**:   
No, I'll leave, and it will be all right. 

[casting around the chamber] 

Where's my stuff? I'll go now, before anyone knows -- they won't even care,   
will they? Unless I come back with it -- 

[he starts rummaging frantically in his pack.] 

Where's my gambeson? He said something about mending it -- and the rest of   
my knives -- my armour -- 

[not speaking coherently or tracking at all] 

Let me get my cloak -- I was going to sneak in as a thrall anyway -- 

**Finrod**:   
Beren, stop. 

**Beren**:   
No, I can't, I've got to go, this is insane-- 

**Finrod**: [catches hold of his arm]   
It's not that simple. You can't change what's happened -- 

**Beren**: [wrenches away -- or tries to]   
--but I can disappear, and then it won't matter -- please, let me go -- 

[tries to pull away again. Finrod shoves him against the wall.] 

**Finrod**:   
BEREN!!!   
[effects: reverb and a brief flare of white light. Beren freezes.] 

**Finrod**:   
Beren -- I am not Morgoth: I cannot reshape your will even if I would. All I   
can do is set you in bonds rather than let you run mad to your destruction,   
like any mortal lord -- though you hate me for it after. But I will do so if   
I must -- but I entreat you, son of my friend, do not make me do so! 

[cautiously releases Beren.] 

**Beren**: [hardly audible]   
Sire. 

[he slips down to his knees, bowing his head] 

**Finrod**: [kneeling with him]   
Are you master of yourself, now? You will not try to flee again? 

[Beren, eyes closed, shakes his head, leaning back against the wall. The Steward   
returns, having heard the shouting, and looks on in concern.] 

When I finish we will speak a little. Just -- rest, be calm, and endeavor   
to accept what you cannot understand for the present. 

[Still frowning, Finrod returns to the table and starts retracing lines on the   
diagrams laid out there. Beren is expressionless and silent, but not managing   
to stay calm, it seems.] 

**Finrod**: [gently]   
You're clamouring louder than an army, and I can't seem to shut you out,   
and I cannot work this way. Can you not still your thoughts even a little? 

[Beren, jaw clenched, nods and tries to stay calm -- outwardly succeeds, at least.   
A short pause: Finrod sighs, sets down maps and goes to kneel by Beren again.] 

Beren. You did not bring about your father's death. --Do you think any mortal   
man could have returned faster than you did -- that if you had only somehow   
pushed yourself harder you could have warned them in time? And do you truly   
think your presence at the attack would have changed anything except the number   
of the dead? Were they not too many for you to fight, after? Did they not take   
care to surround the camp and cut off all avenues of retreat beforehand? You   
could not have sacrificed yourself to guard their escape -- only died with him. 

**Beren**: [self-loathing]   
You weren't there -- I should've-- 

**Finrod**: [flinches]   
--I am there now. And I see -- as you cannot -- that with what you were given,   
of strength and knowledge, you could have done no more. Be at peace, my friend:   
you are not the primary agent of disaster in Middle-earth. Leave that blame   
where it belongs -- on Morgoth's doorstep. 

**Beren**: [bleakly]   
My father apologized to me before he sent me off that last time. It wasn't   
like there was any reason for him to, I drew the lot fair and square, he didn't   
pick me in particular -- though he should have, given the situation. Only --   
if I'd been on point instead of the guys, maybe . . . 

[looking at the King] 

Are you all right, sir? 

**Finrod**: [sad smile]   
Only a trifle jealous. I parted ill from my father, and I do not know how or   
when I shall ever be reconciled with him. 

[Beren is quiet, his face expressionless -- outwardly; whatever is unvoiced causes   
Finrod to recoil as at a blow.] 

**Steward**: [softly]   
My King, I would say were he one of us so cruelly held in Memory, to take him   
beside the Falls and let the voice of the waters calm him. 

**Finrod**:   
I would say the same, mortal or not, but with the unsettled situation, I cannot   
dare that. 

[remains frowning in deep thought for a long moment before an idea occurs to him] 

Edrahil -- bring me my harp, if you please. 

[the Steward nods in surprised approval] 

**Steward**:   
Of course. You'll want it tuned in Stars', correct? 

**Finrod**:   
Yes, thank you. 

[checks] 

No -- wait. There is one still more restful in its accords. The tuning   
Treelight, if you please. 

[The Steward looks at him oddly] 

**Steward**:   
It goes against all custom, sire. 

**Finrod**:   
Custom appears to have been banished to the Void this day. And none of us   
three shall be offended, unless you think it ill done in itself--? 

**Steward**:   
Never, my lord. 

[He exits, leaving Finrod beside Beren. They do not speak before the Steward   
returns with a small but exquisitely-elegant harp of wood inlaid with gold.   
Finrod plays a run of notes ascending and descending, and frowns.] 

**Finrod**:   
It's a trifle flat. 

[He retunes quickly. This is clearly a small ritual between them of longstanding   
custom; the Steward smiles a little despite his obvious worry. He begins to play,   
at first a rapid piece with much counterpoint and a rather martial air, only   
gradually slowing it down and introducing less abrupt changes of interval and   
harmony, until at last it is at a tempo and modality free of agitation and stress.   
(If you are fortunate enough to have a copy of The Harper's Land by Ann Heyman and   
Alison Kinnaird you will have an inkling of what it should sound like. --For   
equestrians, it is similar to getting a nervous, jigging, high-strung beast down   
to a proper collected-yet-relaxed gait -- not just throwing a switch from one to   
the other.) When the set is finished he continues to block out chords and let   
them ring in a low, continuous background. Beren has slipped farther to lie curled   
up on his side, eyes closed, on the floor.] 

**Steward**: [low voice]   
Does he sleep? 

**Finrod**: [frowning]   
I can't tell. But his pain no longer consumes his thought. 

[looks up at the Steward. Hesitantly:] 

You should not have bespoken him so harshly. My honor is not worth   
such zeal in defense. 

**Steward**: [bitterly]   
I beg you, do not remind me. --We failed them, my King. Did we not? 

**Finrod**: [closing his eyes]   
Yes. 

**Steward**:   
They were betrayed. And not by our neglect alone. 

**Finrod**:   
You sensed that too? 

**Steward**:   
He strove to conceal it, but the fact was too much for him. And yet   
there's no anger there, either. --Only for the Enemy that caused it. 

**Finrod**:   
Would we all had such wisdom. 

[sighs] 

I think -- I think we have just seen what happens when the Oath encounters   
a mortal soul. 

**Steward**:   
Not a pleasant sight, indeed. As though not strong wine had mastered him, but   
almost as if he'd taken the flat of a blade, helmless. 

**Finrod**: [anxious look]   
Edrahil, do you think it possible for words to invoke themselves? For a   
Doom to call itself down? 

**Steward**:   
How so, my lord? 

**Finrod**:   
I don't understand this at all, this business from start to end, coming now   
and seemingly from nowhere. Why should Elwe -- Elu -- suddenly ask for a   
Silmaril of all things? He's never even seen them. And as far as I dare read,   
no one had been speaking of them to suggest it, not Luthien certainly, not   
from his thoughts -- 

**Steward**:   
There is a not-incomprehensible association, perhaps -- in that the Silmarils   
are the most rare and precious of all things in existence, and the daughter of   
Melian and Thingol the most precious of all things to them, and hence the idea   
of one infinitely-valued and inaccessible treasure to be set as price for another? 

**Finrod**: [unconvinced]   
Hm. --I still don't like it. If an impossible quest was what was needed, why not   
ask for Glaurung's tongue to prove him killed? No less inaccessible, and certainly   
more useful than a Silmaril. 

**Steward**:   
My lord, you're the one with Vision; my talent is for overlooked-but-necessary   
details. Do you think it possible for the Curse to waken itself again? 

**Finrod**:   
I don't know. . . It tastes of Morgoth's will to me, though I can't see how he   
could directly influence any of it. I could spend a dozen years pondering the   
implications of this -- 

**Steward**:   
But we have not twelve years, my King -- nor even ten -- 

[breaks off] 

**Finrod**:   
Speak your mind, friend. 

**Steward**:   
It comes to me that these last ten years have been the most dearly bought of all   
my life, at least, and that I should have spent them in better use. 

**Finrod**:   
I know. --Where did they go, master of my Household? How shall we account for them?   
Two years of grim hornlocked contest, driven back hoof by hoof until the slip   
and rout of Minas Tirith, leaving the winner to bellow and tear across the North   
without bar; five years after of grateful respite, when our Enemy seemed content   
to hold what he'd taken without further onslaught, barring us in turn, testing us   
in small ways that did not cost us much, and we recovered from the Burning or   
so it seemed, so far as that could be. And then after it was done we learned of   
the trials of the far marches, and their silent fall, and we knew why we had had   
so much of peace -- "so much" I say, when it was in truth as an hour, was it not? 

[The Steward nods] 

An hour that slipped by unnoticed, and they were gone from this world. And I   
mourned them, as did you all, and reproached myself, and knew it vain, and set   
my mind to the safeguarding of the West, and the keeping of this City, and the   
inevitable clash that is to come -- and thought to honor them in this way. And   
then the strange news came, in the very days that war kindled anew against my   
kinsman, and I much distracted, of one the Singers said the woods themselves sang   
of, and a name not yet dead under the stars, and I rejoiced with you, and before   
I did anything word came hard upon the first that he was gone, overwhelmed by an   
army of wolves and dark sorcery. And again I mourned, and thought the song of   
Beor was done -- 

[as he speaks he rings the lowest string of the harp, twelve times, and then once more] 

until the hour that he came before me, famished, in rags, far past his strength   
-- asking only because what had been demanded of him was beyond any mortal measure   
-- No sword, no spear or bolt I've ever taken has hurt a fraction as much -- not   
the Cold, not the sight of the fires in the East -- only that other Fire, and the   
fall of knowledge that my brothers were gone: for I knew then that Morgoth's lies   
were true, that we should spend their brief lives in lieu of our own, and think no   
more of it than of a faithful hound slain by wolf or boar -- 

**Steward**: [anguished]   
No, my King, not so -- 

**Finrod**: [ignoring him]   
-- and Nienna witness for me, I knew the same terrible joy-in-sorrow as at the Fens   
of Serech, when the ox-horns sang out of the ash cloud and out of utter destruction   
came our redemption. What price for a King of the Eldar, then? More than a pretty   
trifle, a "thing made by craft," indeed? Time to find out -- 

**Beren**: [with tremendous effort, not otherwise moving]   
Gentles . . . I am not asleep . . . 

**Finrod**:   
Your pardon, Beren. 

**Beren**:   
If you'd prefer . . . I'll retire apart . . . my lords. 

**Finrod**:   
I'm not leaving you alone. I have nothing to say which should be safeguarded   
from your hearing -- neither of you, nor of any other. But if you need silence   
to rest we will converse in silence, though I think it rude to do so before   
mortals. 

**Beren**:   
That doesn't matter -- I can rest in a hurricane. 

[Slowly he pulls up onto his side and draws up his knees, locking his arms around   
and resting his head on them. He looks sick and more than a little dazed still.] 

But you don't want me hearing -- that -- 

**Finrod**: [coolly]   
Do you presume to tell me my own will? If you had been truly asleep you would   
have heard and known it upon waking. If I had not wished you to hear, I would   
not have spoken. You are Edain, not Eldar, Beren: remember that there are many   
things you cannot understand. 

**Beren**:   
Including what you said. I don't blame you for not understanding what Time is   
to us, how could you? but what -- 

**Finrod**: [breaking in]   
--Do you recollect the words of your kinsman Bereg? 

**Beren**: [stiffly]   
We don't talk about him. 

**Finrod**:   
Nevertheless, as with most of the lies of our Enemy, what was said in those days   
had not a little of truth in it. Not always the same, perhaps -- I trust I have   
taken more care than say, Caranthir, for all of my subjects, not simply those my   
nearest kin -- but it might be argued that the Elf-friends have had precious little   
in return for their friendship to us. 

**Beren**: [dismissive]   
That wasn't what I was asking about. I meant, what did you mean about the Oath   
trying to start all this? It's not real, is it? It can't do things, like a person?   
Unless you mean it was what started the War in Middle-earth in the first place,   
because what started this was me getting stuck on the southern border and not   
being able to get around the cordon. Otherwise I'd have gone west to Brethil,   
obviously, not down into Doriath, and none of this would ever have happened --   
You're not saying the Silmarils are doing it somehow? Are you? 

**Finrod**:   
No. Not quite. What do you remember learning about the Night of Darkness, about   
the Jewels and Feanor, about the Doom? 

**Beren**:   
Um. Huh. "--There was considerable disagreement as to what should be done next.   
Mistakes were made. People got hurt. --Here we are." 

**Finrod**: [covers eyes briefly]   
Ah. --Was I really that reticent? 

**Beren**: [trying very hard not to sound at all critical]   
There was more, but I was pretty young and it didn't make a lot of sense to me   
then. My cousins and I couldn't get it. We figured it had to be something Elven,   
or maybe just Feanor -- the -- with the . . . the Kinslaying. We were just happy   
to play at being mythic heroes battling Morgoth and not worrying about the details.   
Now . . . being older and possibly wiser, I've seen enough of what stress does to   
ordinary people to realize that no, it's not that completely incomprehensible   
after all. 

[pause] 

And yeah, I think that probably a lot got left out, or maybe we just didn't bother   
remembering it, because now that I think about it it took longer for my uncle to   
recap the story of The Business With The Vaharions' Five Sheep, Or Was it Seven,   
And The Rights To The Salmon Pool In Northfell when he got back from sorting that   
all out, and that was probably a bit less complicated in reality than the history   
of the Noldor returning to Middle-earth. 

**Finrod**: [quietly]   
-- Probably. 

**Beren**:   
But I still don't get it about the Silmarils. This place is full of jewels.   
Are they that different? What kind of magic spell is on them that makes   
people go crazy in their presence? Or even outside it, like you're telling me   
now? How are they different from the things I've seen here today? 

**Finrod**: [remembering, rapt]   
They're like nothing on Arda -- quite literally. All that remains of the   
First Song is in them, the first calling of the world into the Void. They   
sing, you know, like blossoms themselves, they're alive as the Trees from   
which they were taken, they inhabit the shells of Earth as the souls of   
Elves and Men inhabit our bodies, and they shine like all joy and all hope   
together. In a way -- and I know this sounds almost blasphemous -- but they   
were almost more wonderful than the Trees themselves, for being the work of   
hands, of a mere Elf, whose years are to the gods' not as the years of Men   
to ours, but as a butterfly's in the Song of the World. And they are deadly   
-- the Starqueen blessed them so that no heart given to evil may endure them,   
and any that dare to lay hands on them unrightfully will be burned by their   
light as with fire. --And yet Morgoth cannot lay them aside, though they   
torture him, for the glory of them, and the living delight of their song . . . 

**Beren**: [quiet -- in shock]   
I didn't think you wanted the Silmarils. 

**Finrod**: [matter-of-fact]   
I don't. I never have. --What does that tell you? 

**Beren**: [flatly]   
That I should be more terrified than I already am, only I don't think I can be. 

**Finrod**:   
Don't be. It's counter-productive after a certain point. It doesn't change   
the odds any. 

[pause] 

But they have a power over mind and heart that cannot be measured -- they are   
so far beyond any other earthly thing that, next one of them, this

[touches the Nauglamir at his neck -- think if Lalique had worked at Amarna!] 

would be no more than a strand of such pebbles as your forebears counted precious,   
bright and glittering but nothing of depth and light in them, no mystery to   
hold the spirit enraptured. For them, one might consign the whole world else to   
Darkness everlasting, and keep them for one's self alone, without any thought to   
any other or care for any lesser thing. One has -- and, indeed, two. Who can say   
what mastery they might have, not in imagination but seen in their living selves? 

**Beren**: [sharply]   
Tinuviel's not a thing. 

**Finrod**: [grave]   
Neither are the Silmarils. --But I have no doubt of you. I only warn you, for   
your own reckoning. 

[laughs] 

It may well be that all of our people failed at first because it was fated that   
your Kindred should take part in their redemption, and that ere this hour all   
other attempts were useless. It would be a strange thing, if it should fall to   
my hand, and yours, would it not? 

**Beren**: [whispering]   
Sir . . . why did you come here? 

**Finrod**:   
I think -- 

[stops] 

No, I'll not burden you. 

**Beren**: [gently]   
Isn't that what a liege's for? 

**Finrod**: [distant]   
. . . I never wanted a domain, a name of glory and renown as my sister and our   
poor brothers, and our cousins did -- I sought only like our father to save   
what could be saved from the wreckage of that Night, to guard those who gave   
no thought to the future, and could not guard themselves. And I did that, and   
I did it well, as well as might be done, I think I may say without boasting.   
But who can say truly what he does, and whether his motives are unmixed? It   
would take a wiser heart than mine -- 

**Beren**:   
Will they remember what you did for them? When you return, will Nargothrond   
accept you again? 

**Finrod**: [easily]   
Oh, we won't be coming back here. Orodreth can have it -- he'll do well enough.   
I couldn't bear it, and neither could they, if I returned to take up the crown,   
whether I sneered at them more scornfully than Feanor himself, or smiling forgave   
all. But I'm done with cities, anyway. There are lands to the East you've never   
seen, lands beyond Gelion where the Singers travel, beautiful country of many   
rivers, and mountains beyond that. We don't need strongholds: we did without them   
before, we can do without them again. The nomad tribes manage well enough -- you   
yourself attest to that, needing no roof nor wall -- perhaps we will find the   
scattered ones and bring them together and create something new never before known   
upon Arda, a civilization without a city, mortal and Eldar together and making not   
the old mistakes, but a new music that has never been heard yet -- 

[Beren looks rather wide-eyed at this; the Steward enters with the King's armour   
in time to overhear this last and looks quietly horrified. Finrod notices --   
penitently:] 

--I'm sorry, Edrahil. You must be so weary of my wanderings and wild fancies -- 

**Steward**: [who is fully armed now save for gauntlets and helmet]   
My lord, have I ever complained of them? 

[answers self] 

Indeed, yes, often. Do I miss the delights of the field or the allure of sleeping   
under the stars? Not away from them, no. Would I forgo the right to attend you in   
peace to any lesser member of your household? No more would I yield up my place at   
your right hand beneath your guerdon. 

**Finrod**:   
It won't be like last time, my Herald. No fanfares, no glories, no brave ridings-   
forth this venture. 

**Steward**:   
-- Or ever again in Middle-earth, it seems. I know. 

**Finrod**: [with gentle regret]   
How should I have managed without your good help, my friend? 

**Steward**: [dryly]   
No doubt as I should have done had my comrades succeeded in persuading me to   
accompany them with the foremost, on the Ships -- that is to say, ill. 

[An Age of shared battles, disasters, expeditions and simple day-in, day-out   
work underlie the smile that follows between them. Regretfully:] 

And now, unfortunately, it falls to me to make the perchance-unwelcome point   
that certain matters needs must be settled, and settled publicly, before we   
depart. It cannot be seen that there is any confusion in the chain of command,   
my king. While it is true that we undertake this errand on Lord Beren's behalf   
and at his behest, it is not and must not appear so that he leads, or that   
you obey him, rather than answer a vassal's just appeal for support. It were   
better he should swear you fealty before all, needless though you think it,   
than that your shield-band be troubled at heart. 

[to Beren] 

I ask your pardon for such chill words, milord. 

**Beren**: [unoffended]   
No, you're right. Certainly there should be nothing left up in the air,   
we don't need any more trouble. Shall I swear now, before you? 

**Steward**: [shakes head]   
Better that all should witness, Heir of Beor. 

**Beren**:   
All right. 

[Finrod sighs.] 

**Steward**:   
Will you arm, sire? 

**Finrod**: [quietly]   
--In a little. I need rest, and it will not take long to ready with your help. 

[He begins to play again, not just tonalities, but very quietly, eyes closed,   
leaning his cheek against the soundbox of the harp. Softly and without disturbing   
his playing, the Steward kneels behind him and removes the Nauglamir. When he   
returns from placing it in its casket, he begins to braid back the King's hair --   
evidently it isn't Elvish custom to just rip out any bits that catch in the links   
if it's gotten long enough to snag in one's mail. Beren watches from the hearth,   
forlornly, remembering when he too had people to look after, and to help him.] 

[Little by little the tempo of the music increases, Working in reverse this time,   
not to agitation and haste but to a steady driving pulse like the sea at incoming   
tide, as the King begins to recover. More and more themes enter and are brought   
into harmony despite the complexity. Beren starts, as though almost recognizing   
what he hears, and begins to actively follow the melodies, alertness starting   
to replace his mindblasted expression.] 

[Very quietly -- or at least as quietly as is possible for a Hound larger than most   
ponies -- Huan slinks in along the edge of the door and around the wall to Beren's   
side, dropping down on the floor next him. Head on paws, he too listens to the   
King's music. Just as it seems that there can be no addition to the richness of it,   
Finrod straightens and begins his Song: 

**Finrod**:   
Sing ye stars and storms of the heavens,   
sing ye beasts of earth and sea,   
sing ye eagles of the air,   
and all growing things! 

I will sing at my rising   
and at my going forth   
and at my returning 

[The other nine return, singly or by twos, during this time, to set their   
packs down and sit beside them on the floor, listening in silence] 

Sing all works of hands, all arts of the mind   
sing all things shaped and shining   
sing every craft of deed and voice -- 

I will sing at my rising   
and at my going forth   
and at my returning 

[Beren joins in, hesitantly at first, on the last two verses -- much to the amazement   
of the others, both that he knows the song and that his voice is so good.] 

With the mountains and the great seas,   
the deeps of the forest and the deeps of the earth   
and the unfathomable deeps of the sky -- 

I will sing at my rising   
and at my going forth   
and at my returning:   
I will ever sing the Secret Fire,   
the Light Beyond,   
the Flame Unburning   
for all my days. 

[by the last stanza all have joined the chorus, impelled by example. When the   
final chord has almost died away the King stops it and sets aside the harp.] 

**Finrod**:   
My friends, my faithful ones -- I ask your forgiveness for rash words spoken   
this day in your presence. I did ill to shame you before you had a chance to   
speak your choice. I would not have anyone come with us who comes out of shame   
and not in freedom -- if anyone here has been compelled thus, be free to go,   
with all my blessing and thanks for your many years of service and hardship,   
from Helcaraxe to the Siege of Angband. 

[No one moves. Finrod looks away for a moment, overcome] 

I too was impelled to go on a quest as well you know, both you who came and you   
who joined us hereafter. It may well be, as it now seems likely, that my destiny   
is to wrest from Morgoth the Light he stole and return it to the world once more   
-- and ever has been so, and for that reason I was driven across the Sea not   
wholly of mine own desiring, though of my own will indeed. It may be. At any   
rate, we resume at long last what we came here to do, and perhaps through the   
strange workings of Doom we will accomplish what all our agelong warfare has not   
done, in secrecy and seeming folly. There are no guarantees -- but I need not tell   
any who stood upon the fields of Ard-galen so! 

[he smiles wryly, stands and crosses to the room's center, where he picks up Dagmor] 

We are joined in this endeavor by one far from unknown to you, either in his   
person or his race, The Beoring, who makes now his own personal deed of faith   
to lay beside yours. Beren? 

[Beren rises and comes over to kneel at his feet. He is tracking better and appears   
in complete control now, but there should still be a slightly concussed shading to   
his movements and expressions, as compared to his normal mode.] 

Beren, son of Barahir, son of Bregor, in direct line of Balan known as Beor, will   
you exchange faith with me, acclaiming me as your King, to serve with truth in   
word and deed for so long as you shall live, accepting this sword of my hand in   
mark of my faith in you, to wield only against the Darkness beneath the light of   
moon and sun and stars? 

**Beren**:   
For so long as I live, my King -- 

[Finrod places the blade across his outstretched hands and sets his right hand on   
Beren's head in acknowledgment briefly. As Beren rises the others come to take his   
place, the Captain foremost, and kneel before the King] 

**Finrod**:   
What's this? It has been long, since you swore me fealty -- 

[looking at the youngest Ranger] 

and not long at all, since you gave me your faith -- you cannot think I have   
any doubt or need at this hour . . . ? 

**Captain**:   
Doubt, no -- yet perhaps need no less -- 

[He offers up his blade to the King, who shakes his head, but takes each warrior's   
oath in turn, after which each goes to stand beside Beren. Finrod, not trying to   
conceal his tears at their gesture, nonetheless raises an eyebrow when the Steward   
kneels at the last.] 

**Steward**: [smiles]   
Shall I ask, then, what I refuse myself? 

[receiving his sword back from Finrod, sheaths it and rises. As Finrod waves his   
two chief lords to the map table, the Steward takes up the King's mail-coat and   
arming doublet and proceeds to help him out of his silken over-robes and into his   
battledress while they speak. There should be no awkwardness: after more than 400   
years of war this isn't something that requires much effort or thought.] 

**Finrod**:   
Those are the only two realistic options that I see -- but give me your opinions.   
Scaling Ered Gorgoroth is out of the question, and it would be folly to go all the   
way round East through milords' brothers' lands, even had we the resources for it.   
Either we must go as we planned originally, with stealth rather than speed, and   
quietly, along Sirion and up through the Fens -- or else work farther to the West   
up through the mountains and down into Angband from the Hithlum side. Your thoughts? 

**Steward**:   
I agree that East is ruled out no less than Northeast, but to cross the Ered Wethrin   
twice in going and returning is suicide, in my judgment. --Stand straight, the   
shoulderline's still twisted. 

**Captain**:   
Winter approaches, Sire, and it is ill to be caught in the mountains then, even   
for us. I know The Beoring has endured it, but I think it a grave risk to compound   
what will not be an easy business. 

**Finrod**: [troubled]   
I would say that our best chance should be to traverse this path, along the river   
valley, through the forest screen and stay out of the line-of-sight of Tol Sirion   
for as long as possible. We know that territory well, our Power should defend us   
against its Darkness and if on the return we were forced to take the mountains to   
Mithrim, and thence to the waterways, still the worst of the effort would be behind   
us. But there is Barahirion to consider in that, too -- can I in conscience take   
him so nigh Delduath? 

**Captain**:   
The Lord of Dorthonion can pass its shadow unscathed, my lord. 

**Finrod**:   
But he's -- 

**Steward**: [kneeling to buckle on the King's greaves]   
--mortal. I know. But so he says, and I believe him. And surely with your   
Working it would be safer still for him. 

**Finrod**: [looking over his shoulder]   
Beren? Is that true? That you can venture Tar-na-Fuin in safety? 

[Beren is sitting on the floor with the others, gently stroking Huan's ears and   
feeding the Hound the last of his scavenged bread.] 

**Beren**: [vaguely]   
What? --Yes. For a while at least. At least a year ago I still could. 

**Finrod**: [concerned]   
Beren! You are not yet armed! Prepare yourself -- we have little time, we   
cannot spend another night beneath these stones. Shall I assist you, friend? 

**Beren**:   
No -- no, I -- I'll do it right now. 

[scrambles up] 

Where's my stuff? 

**Steward**:   
In the next chamber, on the press -- some of it seemed beyond not only repair   
but usefulness, and I made bold to supply alternatives, but presumed to   
discard nothing -- it's all there for you to decide of. 

**Beren**:   
Thank you. 

[As he goes towards the inner door the King's Guard and the young Ranger   
intercept him.] 

**Ranger**:   
My lord, we do not wish to insult your competence, but if you would have aid   
in donning your gear and mail, we stand ready to your help. 

**Beren**:   
I'd not presume -- 

**Guard**:   
Sir, it were our privilege to serve you. 

**Beren**:   
I -- 

[in the background] 

**Finrod**:   
. . . perimeter, and I'll join you in short order. 

**Steward**:   
Farewells, lord? 

**Finrod**: [shaking head]   
Checking the wards. 

**Beren**: [gives up the useless pride]   
-- would be honored and grateful for the help. 

[As they enter the other room:] 

How do you make the metal not shine? Magic? 

**Ranger**: [confused]   
No, my lord, just -- a Noldorin Working. 

**Guard**:   
One persuades it not to reflect but absorb and to refract, so that the light   
is not cast out but held within, and such as escapes is scattered dimly, and   
doesn't give off flashes. 

[Obviously this is perfectly reasonable and unmysterious to them] 

**Beren: [shrugging**]   
--Ah. Right. 

**Gower**:   
-- Nargothrond, now kingless,   
waits like the calm of birds before the storm:   
not daring to make merry yet, for shame,   
yet fearing to speak of things to come   
lest Truth should happen to force Thought,   
Words breed Deeds, Will become Act.   
Preparations, hasty and diminished,   
with courage to fill what's lacked   
of force of men and of materiel,   
now come to their quick fruition;   
plans made with confidence of weal   
now yield to need's tuition.   
The several Dooms,   
spun from the earliest hours of time,   
now spiral to a single thread,   
crime mounteth upon crime --   
the Hidden Realm, faithlessly entrusting   
its faith to the faithless, lies bereft.   
Good-byes, private and most painful,   
have been said. Now all that's left   
is the leaving --   
  
  
  


**EPILOGUE**

  
  
  
  


[Note: everything is very hushed and dim; the scene is almost without words.] 

[At the gates of Nargothrond. Ten warriors wait around the entrance, some   
standing, some crouching, keeping watch both inwards and outwards to the gray   
autumnal woods. They are equipped in dark battle-dress and heavily armed.   
The number does not include the Steward, and does include Beren, seated against   
one of the two giant stone posts that supports the lintel, head resting on   
his forearms. He is wearing his own old gear, with some of the worst-tattered   
bits replaced in the same Elven winter camo that his companions display.   
They do not speak, though some of them sharpen swords and knives. It is almost   
sunset, but under a sky that is too overcast for more than a hint of gold to   
indicate where She is.] 

[A disturbance within the vestibule: the King appears, striding along. Orodreth   
to his right is talking and attempting to get him to answer, affirm, or at least   
make some ameliorating noise -- but in vain. Finrod takes his helmet from the   
Steward at his left and buckles it on, ignoring his brother. In their wake Finduilas   
tags along accompanied by Gwindor for moral support, and followed by Huan: all three   
appear extremely worried. Orodreth tries again to gain acknowledgment, then gives up.   
Now that his brother is no longer talking, Finrod turns and embraces him quickly,   
putting a hand to his mouth when he tries to start apologizing again -- Not now.   
The waiting soldiers rise and form ranks, Beren with them. He looks deathly ill; the   
Captain pats his shoulder reassuringly.] 

[Finrod slings on the pack that is waiting for him there. Finduilas rushes up to   
him and clutches his arm; reluctantly he accepts her tearful embrace and finally   
returns his niece's hug. She is completely devastated -- looks apologetically at   
Beren but he does not see her at all, staring right through everything and everyone   
around him. Gwindor looks thoroughly wretched and ashamed. The King goes to each   
gatepost and presses his hands against them in a final warding, then begins a last-   
minute inspection of everyone's gear.] 

**Captain**: [aside to the Steward]   
--How does our lord? 

**Steward**:   
How do you think? --But he will not show it before them. 

[He glances aside to within the shadow of the entrance, where Elvensight might   
decry some one -- or ones -- standing hidden from Mortal view.] 

**Captain**:   
When we return they'll laugh the other sides of their faces -- and without   
teeth, so help me Tulkas! 

**Steward**:   
--When. 

[He smiles bitterly] 

**Captain**:   
You do not think we will return? 

**Steward**:   
I do not. 

**Captain**: [harshly]   
Have you Seen it, then? 

**Steward**:   
I have not. --But it is nearing Winter. And a plan that was dangerous when   
conceived with three wings of cavalry is now to be undertaken by twelve.   
--Even if one of said twelve is The Beoring. 

**Captain**: [snorts]   
Well. For my part, I place my trust in the King. 

**Steward**: [taking no umbrage]   
As do I. But I do not think that I, at least, will ever come to Nargothrond   
again. Whether the King carries on with his mad plan to start elsewhere   
anew -- or not. 

[calm, ignoring the other's worried look:] 

It does not matter. He will not need a herald in this venture or banner-bearer   
to go before him this time; but sword and shield he still has call for, and he   
may set mine wherever need requires. 

[Before the Captain can respond, the King finishes up inspecting the rest of the   
company and turns to his Commanders. They exchange looks. Finrod sets a gauntleted   
hand on Beren's shoulder and holds him with a worried stare until he snaps out of   
his trance. They begin to cross the terraces, ignoring the sentries posted around   
the gates, who likewise affect not to see them.] 

[Huan begins to bay in that sudden, heart-jolting, rip-all-your-nerves-out-of-   
their-sockets way that guard dogs have, only this is not Death-to-trespassers!   
but the miserable Please-please-don't-abandon-me! bark instead. Beren drops out,   
hurries back and attempts to comfort him, patting his head and letting the Hound   
lean on him for a few moments. Then he turns again without a second look back   
and double-times it to catch up with the others. In the twilight and muffled in   
cloak and armor, it isn't obvious that one of the twelve companions is not Eldar.] 

[They pick their way North along the river and file out past the hidden sentries and   
guardposts without exchange. Very shortly they are lost to sight in distance and   
darkness. Slowly, as though going to meet a grim fate, instead of to rejoin the   
world of light and society, the kin of Felagund return indoors, drifting back like   
ghosts. Huan alone remains, looking forlornly out the great gates into the rising mist.]   
  


* * *

  
_The Harper's Land, _1983, by Ann Heyman and Alison Kinnaird (well worth the purchase price)   
WMA and RA sound clips here:   
http://www.rounder.com/Album.asp?catalog_id=4914   


* * *

  



	3. Act III Tinuviel at Bay: A Caccia of Bel...

_This chapter in honor of_   
_John Edward Moreton Drax Plunkett, Lord Dunsany, for giving us_   
_King Argimenes and the Unknown Warrior_

_"—Bones!"_

_and Willie Yeats for so very much, and not forgetting_   
_The Countess Cathleen_

_"The storm is in my hair and I must go—"_

* * *

  
**TINUVIEL AT BAY: A CACCIA OF BELERIAND**   
**Act III of The Lay of Leithian**   
**retold in the vernacular as a dramatic script**   
**(with apologies to Messrs. Tolkien & Shakespeare)**   
**(and thanks to M. Moliere & Miss Austen for assistance)**

  
  
  
  


**Dramatis Personae & Cast, in order of appearance**   
[this is how I'd cast them - you're free to supply your own actors, of course.] 

** The Human Bard Gower (appearing courtesy of The Rose Playhouse)**   
Derek Jacobi (appearing courtesy Henry V) 

** Luthien, called Tinuviel, Princess of Doriath**   
Claudia Black (appearing courtesy of Farscape) 

** Orodreth, Prince of Nargothrond**   
Hugh Grant (appearing courtesy Sense and Sensibility) 

** Celegorm,** **Son of Feanor**   
James Marsters in suave, charming, and gentlemanly mode (courtesy Mutant Enemy) 

** Curufin, Son of Feanor**   
James Marsters in sly, caustic and vicious mode (courtesy Mutant Enemy) 

**Finduilas, Princess of Nargothrond, daughter of Orodreth**   
Gelsey Kirkland (appearing courtesy the Baryshnikov Nutcracker telecast) 

** Celebrimbor, Son of Curufin**   
Alexis Denisof (appearing courtesy Mutant Enemy) 

**Gwindor, a Lord of Nargothrond**   
Ioan Gruffydd (appearing courtesy A&E's Horatio Hornblower series) 

** Huan of Valinor**   
Special guest appearance as Himself 

** Assorted Nargothronders of both Houses: Rangers, Citizens, and Knights**   
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

**SCENE I**

**Gower:**   
In longsome time   
fair Luthien to Nargothrond hath fared   
by pathways strange and secret under star   
and light of moon, 'scaping the trammels set   
by love that seeks too hardily to save   
drawn forth from that shelt'ring snare   
by binding far stronger than that rope of hair   
her path sheer straight from Hirilorn's crown   
--a track more steep than scales Gorgoroth down.   
Now as a prize to the Elven city borne   
taken in her hasting flight by the Hound of Celegorm,   
the Nightingale of Doriath with close-pent wings   
rants against her cage; weeping, herself she flings,   
-- having exchanged but snare for snare --   
in futile dread and rage and hot despair.   
Rising her sureness of yet one treason more   
by hours: first Daeron, jealous; then swore   
Elu Thingol, and yet forswore, though formal-true;   
then Daeron again, breaking his vow implied:   
whereon her father cedes wisdom to fear and pride   
prisoning her, whilst mourning her mother stood aside.   
This new betrayal less false than all of these,   
that she, and only she, is purposed to deceive,   
-- not self, in fond disguise of pure devotion.   
Of all her kindred, all whom 'friend' should claim,   
but one, as yet, hath proven true: -- the same   
who clear once called by her heart's true name.   
  


[The great hall (or probably, indeed, a great hall) of the fortress-palace of   
Nargothrond. A banquet is underway. In the high seats are the Regent Orodreth   
and his household, and in the places of honor, Lords Curufin, Celegorm, and their   
entourage. Especially honored on the royal dais is Luthien of Doriath. She does   
not look the part of an Elven princess of high degree. Her hair is bobbed short   
and rather wildly curly, her clothes are defiantly the travelworn white dress   
and blue wrapper, and she is not at all serene, but rather pale and stressed-out   
yet nonetheless determined. (She looks a bit like an older version of Trina   
Schart Hyman's illustration of Ronia, the Robber's Daughter by Astrid Lindgren,   
as a matter of fact, if Ronia were wearing a costume designed by Sir Lawrence   
Alma-Tadema instead.) 

**Orodreth**:   
Dear lady, you've not touched your plate at all. Is our food too rich for   
one accustomed to simpler fare? 

**Luthien**:   
No, my lord Regent -- it's only that I have no appetite when I think of Beren   
in pain and privation. How long till your army can ride forth? 

**Orodreth**:   
Highness, it is not that easily arranged. Such -- such things take time -- 

**Luthien**:   
-- It's been two days since you brought me here. Two entire days!   
He could be dying! 

**Celegorm**: [aside to Curufin]   
We could be so lucky -- 

**Curufin**: [low]   
Hush. 

**Luthien**:   
--And I've seen no sign yet of any readying whatsoever. You told me, my   
lord Curufin, that you would expedite the preparation of a rescue mission,   
and I'd like to know what progress has been made. You haven't kept me   
updated at all. 

[Conversation all around drops off to an all-time lull, for a variety of reasons;   
even the background music dies down as the harpers attempt to play low enough that   
they can follow the exchanges.] 

**Curufin**: [very polite but patronizing nevertheless]   
Lovely princess, it takes time as I explained before, to ready such things   
as equipment and provisions and horse and armor and all the equipage of war.   
You can't just grab a spear, a shield, and go, you see. 

**Luthien**: [frowning]   
That's funny, because we never stand down completely. Are you trying to tell   
me that Nargothrond is so complacent about your secrecy that you're completely   
unprepared for combat? 

**Curufin**: [indulgent patience]   
Planning an expedition to Angband is not like routing a few squads of probing   
Orcs, milady. There are plans to be made, complex preparations, and much work to   
be taken care of, lest we simply run headlong into catastrophe as your friend   
has done. 

**Luthien**:   
[coming to a new level of suspicion]   
I see. Forgive my lack of understanding -- I've never waged a war, you see. 

[to Orodreth] 

You will let me know as soon as your men are ready to ride forth? And if there's   
anything I can do to help things -- mend gear, bake lembas, fletch arrows or   
ready medicinal spells -- I'll gladly work night and day until all's done. 

**Orodreth**: [coolly, but not with obvious sarcasm]   
Highness, we certainly are grateful for your offer of assistance, but   
Nargothrond scarcely needs such further heroic efforts from yourself. But we   
will certainly keep you advised of what progress has been made. 

[Celegorm shoots him a narrow look, displeased. Celebrimbor raises an eyebrow, but   
keeps his thoughts to himself. The Regent's daughter and her fiancee look distressed.] 

**Celegorm**: [changing subject by force]   
Dear Lady Luthien! The voices of Melian and her fair daughter are renowned   
throughout the lands. Surely in return for your welcome and guesting here,   
you could spare us one shortest of songs? 

[Luthien stares at him in disbelief. Something snaps.] 

**Luthien**:   
Yes. -- I will sing you a song that you have perhaps not yet heard. 

[She rises and gathers herself as if going into battle; the cold gleam in her   
eyes betrays the fact that she is also very much her father's daughter, however   
different their styles of combat.] 

**Bard**:   
Your Highness, what mode shall the accompanying flow be cast in?   
The primal mode of Starrise, or the threnodic mode of Moonrise, or   
the simpler, yet more vigorous strains of Sunrise? 

**Luthien**:   
None. There's no accompaniment. It should be a duet: I'll take both parts. 

[hums note softly, finds the octave. Takes a deep breath and forges onward.] 

O fare thee well, I must be gone   
and leave you for a while --   
Where e'er I go I will return,   
if I go ten thousand miles! 

O ten thousand miles it is so far   
to leave me here alone,   
While I may lie, lament and cry   
and you, you'll not hear my moan! 

O the crow that is so black my love   
will change his color white --   
I'll never be false to you my love   
till the day, day turns to night! 

O the rivers they all will run dry   
and rocks melt in the sun --   
I'll ne'er prove false to the one I love   
till all these things be done! 

[There is silence -- the hush of profound appreciation that is Elven applause.] 

**Orodreth**: [at last]   
Superb . . . superb. Is that one of your renowned Daeron's songs? Menegroth   
is justly proud of her sons -- and daughters! 

**Luthien**: [in a small precise voice]   
No. That is one of the songs of Dorthonion. My Beren learned it from his   
mother Emeldir, who sang it with his father Barahir and learned it of her   
father who was also named Beren, who gave it to my Beren's grandmother   
when first she came to dwell in Dorthonion from Hithlum. It is a very old   
song. It was believed that his grandfather's mother sang it first. I am   
glad you like it. 

[She sits down and demurely sips her wine, with no indication in her manner of   
having just suffered defeat, nor that she was attempting any Working in her song.   
There is a different kind of silence in the banquet hall.] 

**Curufin**: [to Celegorm, undertone]   
That is not happening again. 

* * *

**SCENE II**

**Gower**:   
Confident of their confirméd vic'try now,   
the sons of Feanor count o'er their spoils,   
the full-achieved, as bold they do allow,   
and the newer prize that's taken in their toils -- 

[The royal apartments, now occupied by Orodreth's household, and with a much less   
"lived-in" look to them -- though not cluttered before, it's clearly not a place   
belonging to an artist-architect-strategist-explorer-linguist-loremaster-musician,   
now -- merely a central location for government. Curufin and Celegorm are once again   
making free of the place, but the feel is very different when they come in and sprawl   
in the chairs by the fireplace. Orodreth is trying to work at the table, despite their   
presence. Huan is, once again, apparently dozing on the hearth.] 

**Celegorm**:   
I never get over how nice these digs are. Cousin Finrod certainly didn't stint   
himself. You've done well by the move, hey, Orodreth? 

**Orodreth**: [flat voice]   
I don't recollect that you were lodged in the kennels prior to and including   
this summer. If you wanted improvements you'd only to make them. That is, after   
all, what everyone else did. 

**Curufin**: [ignoring this, continuing discussion with Celegorm from outside]   
I wonder if they're really betrothed, or if she's only saying that to make it   
sound more respectable? 

**Orodreth**: [dryly]   
Yes, clearly that's of the most tremendous and pressing concern to Her Highness. 

**Celegorm**: [ignoring this too]   
I doubt it -- he wasn't wearing any rings but the signet, and she's certainly   
not got one either. 

**Curufin**:   
Well, naturally -- where would he get any silver to make one? Not that he'd know   
how in any case. And even if she supplied both of them, it would be too obvious   
-- no chance of keeping it secret if she started wearing a ring all of the sudden. 

**Orodreth**:   
I didn't get the impression she was trying to be secret about it, myself, but   
rather that she thought it was no anyone else's concern but their own. --Is that   
even a custom of Middle-earth originally? It could well be something our parents'   
generation came up with, back home. I wouldn't know about that myself, of course:   
I was never the one interested in "was" and "might have been" and "could be" -- 

**Celegorm**:   
--What's the matter with you? Weren't we boon companions before, always with   
the merry jest and the shared glass and the riding to the hunt and the cheer   
of good fellowship, Orodreth? 

**Orodreth**:   
Well, yes, but that was before you led a revolution against my . . . House --   
we were all equals, in those days. 

**Curufin**: [sweetly poisonous]   
And now you are ruler, my lord -- 

**Orodreth**: [icy]   
Now I am Regent, my lord -- a mere placeholder, and no more. When are you going   
to tell her? Or are you planning on waiting for her to get tired of waiting first? 

**Curufin**: [colder still]   
I thought we had reached an understanding in which you, and your House, were not   
going to interfere with us, and ours. Is that not so? Or am I mistaken, Lord Regent? 

**Orodreth**: [sardonic smile]   
My concern is the well-being of this City, and its realm, and its people. Apart from   
that, and outside of that, is not my concern. How you rule the affairs of your own   
household, so long as you do not risk Nargothrond by it, is your own business. 

[goes back to scanning and occasionally signing parchments. The brothers exchange Looks.] 

**Curufin**: [going back to their conversation]   
Dark-elf or not, it's unbelievable that any of our Kindred, however distant,   
could fall so far-- 

**Orodreth** [shaking his head]   
The daugher of Melian, a Dark-elf? Do you actually believe your own -- talk?   
--My lord. 

**Celegorm**: [with the exasperated tone of someone going over something for the nth time]   
Even if he wasn't a mortal, can you imagine anyone -- and of royal blood! --   
being so lost to propriety as to strike up a relationship with a chance-met   
stranger of no estate and think it feasible that an alliance of blood and honor   
should be undertaken between them? Doesn't she, at least, understand that marriage   
is a binding not simply of individuals but of houses and traditions, that there   
are all kinds of implications for everyone else around them, and that no one,   
not least a scion of a ruling House of the Eldar, can act on their own whims   
without regard for these facts? 

**Orodreth**: [as if observing to himself, aloud]   
Oh no, it isn't as though anyone else in that family has ever run into someone   
in the woods by accident and spent time with them exclusively and not told anyone   
about it nor consulted with others nor sought advice before making it final and   
fait accompli, now, is it? 

[nonplussed silence from the brothers] 

--One might, in fact, consider it practically a family tradition . . . 

**Curufin**:   
You know, I don't care for your tone at all -- my Lord Steward of Nargothrond. 

**Orodreth**: [not looking up from the scroll he is reading]   
And unless you're interested in taking over all the mind-numbingly tedious tasks   
of management which now fall to me, with far less assistance, and in which you've   
never shown the least bit of interest heretofore, -- that fact is signally   
irrelevant, my lord cousin. --Unless your brother is perchance planning on forgoing   
some of his own sport to take up the slack . . . ? 

[long silence] 

**Curufin**: [chilly]   
--It's good we understand each other, isn't it? 

[offhand, to his brother:] 

Pass me that lute, will you? 

[testing the strings, to Orodreth:] 

Whose is this? Finduilas'? She shouldn't leave it tuned up, it'll ruin the frame,   
you know. 

**Orodreth**:   
--Have you not your own chambers, my lords? 

**Celegorm**:   
Yes, but they're not so nice as yours. 

[There is a brief staring contest, before Orodreth shakes his head in disgust and   
gathers up all his parchments and writing equipment in angry, exasperated gestures.] 

**Orodreth**: [curt]   
If anyone's looking for me, I'll be working in the privacy of my own old office. 

[leaves with his portfolio and scribe's case while Curufin plays a cheerful little   
syncopation on the strings, discordantly out of tune] 

**Celegorm**: [sadly]   
I don't think our cousin likes us very much any more. 

**Curufin**:   
You did notice that he wasn't absolutely committed without reserve on the matter   
of noninterference? 

**Celegorm**:   
I guess we aren't going to tell him about the Letter, are we? --How's that coming   
along? 

**Curufin**: [smiling in anticipation]   
Almost there. I've still got a few phrases that need work, and there are a couple   
of legal technicalities I want to be sure of before I send it off. I'll have the   
final draft done for you to look over in a few days. 

**Celegorm**:   
The one bad thing is, we won't be able to see Elwe's face when he gets it.   
I wish there were some way to scry that scene! 

**Curufin**:   
True, alas. That would be -- amusing. 

[sighs] 

Ah well, if wishes were horses then -- beggars -- would ride, indeed -- 

[They exchange grins. On the tiles Huan, head on paws, gives a soft worried whine.]   


* * *

**SCENE III.**

**Gower**:   
Having crossed the gulf, the narrow bridge (though not sword but hair)   
Tinuviel will brook no longer biding, as caged woodthrush seeks the air-- 

[An empty hallway in Nargothrond. It shouldn't be spooky-looking at all, only   
deserted and rather winding, so that you can't see very far along it, because   
it follows the natural contours of the cavern from which it's been carved. Luthien   
appears around a curve, walking very carefully, one hand on the wall as though   
it were pitch-dark not pleasantly lit.] 

**Luthien**: [under her breath, to herself]   
-- I never get lost. I don't understand it -- everything feels jumbled,   
disorganized, I can't find any center to it --I can't find East, I can't find   
West, all I can tell is up from down -- and I'm not even sure about that -- 

[she sags against the wall] 

Oh, Beren, I'm no use to you at all! I've accomplished what? nothing -- I can't   
seem to make anyone understand the need for action -- you'd think they'd see the   
need for urgency right off, though -- There's something wrong here, some fog or   
darkness clouding everyone's mind, it seems, that they can't think straight, can't   
keep their priorities straight -- 

[even more worried] 

I wonder -- no, surely not -- but -- I wonder if -- perhaps with the King being   
gone the wards are breaking down and Morgoth's managing to influence people somehow?   
I've heard of it, I know he tries it all the time with us and Mom stops him: is   
this what it would look like? Everybody muddled, acting like nothing's happened   
and everything is normal, no matter how crazy it is under the circumstances? Going   
about their daily business when they should be mobilizing like there's no tomorrow? 

[frowns, shaking her head] 

. . . but then I thought we had all the time in the world, too, even though I   
knew better, and now I grudge every hour I wasted this Spring -- so perhaps it's   
just that they can't help it, and I've changed so much that I can't understand   
us now . . . 

[There's a noise behind her and she jumps up straight and whirls around in a single   
movement, facing that way -- never forget that she's been a dancer longer than most   
civilizations have lasted. Sharply:] 

Who's there? 

[There is no answer: she girds up her shawl and strides around the arc of the   
passage, camera following] 

Who is -- Ah! 

[Huan is standing there, looking a bit apprehensive] 

**Luthien**:   
Ohhh! --Hello. Come here-- 

[she holds out her hands and claps at him, making chirping noises] 

Come on, don't be scared, good boy-- 

[Huan comes closer, shy-dog mode -- though if he were not a Hound one might think   
he was embarrassed instead] 

Good dog! 

[he sniffs her hand, then licks it, and she scratches his ears] 

I'm sorry, I don't have any treats for you. I was wondering where you'd got to.   
--I wish you were my dog. That would surprise them at home, wouldn't it -- you   
wouldn't let them shut me up in a tree if you belonged to me, I'll bet. Where   
have you been? Oh, but you're a working Hound, I suppose you've been out doing   
your job, hunting Wargs. 

[Huan wags tail; she pats him hard on the neck like a horse] 

Beren would like you so much, he used to have dogs -- I wonder if you met him   
while he was here? I'm sure you'd love him too-- 

[Huan leans against her and whuffs in her hair: she wipes her eyes against his   
coat. From the same direction as Huan Celegorm comes around the passage and sees them] 

**Celegorm**:   
Huan! 

[they are both startled by this] 

--Don't be frightened, my lady, he won't hurt you. 

**Luthien**:   
Oh, I'm not. --I know. 

**Celegorm**: [apologetic]   
You seemed a bit shaken up when you were last around him. 

**Luthien**:   
Well, I was. Literally. 

[Celegorm gives her an awkward smile] 

**Celegorm**:   
Yes, I know -- I'm -- I'm sorry about that, Your Highness. 

**Luthien**:   
I think twelve apologies is enough, milord, don't you? No harm was done. And the   
time could be better spent, I'm sure. 

**Celegorm**:   
Ah. --Right. What are you doing wandering around all by yourself? Can I help you? 

**Luthien**:   
I don't know. I was trying to find the Regent's office, and someone gave me   
directions -- several someones in fact -- but I think I must have taken a wrong   
turning somewhere. Or several. 

**Celegorm**:   
You know, you really shouldn't be just roaming about without a guide -- it could   
be dangerous, my lady. 

**Luthien**: [narrows eyes]   
Dangerous? 

**Celegorm**:   
There's all kinds of stuff goin' on here, you know. Workings you probably never   
even heard of, high-powered security features and maintainance and construction-- 

**Luthien**: [dryly]   
I imagine that I can avoid walking into a hot stove or tripping into a cistern   
on my own, Lord Celegorm. 

**Celegorm:**   
Where are your ladies? Not slacking off on the job? Shouldn't you have an assistant? 

**Luthien**:   
I sent them away. I'm not used to having so many people around all the time.   
I haven't seen more than one or two people at once for weeks now -- until you   
caught me. 

**Celegorm**: [ignoring the hints]   
Oh. But -- who looks after your things? 

**Luthien**:   
I do. Why? 

**Celegorm**:   
I wish you'd accept some new clothes. You -- you shouldn't be obliged to go around   
in those awful old rags. 

**Luthien**:   
I told you, I don't feel comfortable taking charity from Nargothrond without   
having presented myself properly as a guest seeking asylum to the King my cousin,   
given the unofficial and destabilizing circumstances of my arrival. There's been   
enough strife in our families as it is . . . 

[aside] 

. . . and I'm harder to ignore this way . . . 

**Celegorm**: [blandly]   
He wouldn't mind, you know. 

[Huan's tail stops wagging and his head droops under Luthien's hand] 

**Luthien**:   
I know. But I still just don't feel right about it. And besides -- this outfit has   
sentimental meaning for me: it's the first dress Beren saw me in. And I made it   
myself, it isn't something my mother made for me -- I didn't take anything they   
gave me -- so for a lot of reasons I'm rather attached to it. 

**Celegorm**:   
But -- the edges, the what-d'ye-call-ems, hems, are all coming off. Getting to be   
less and less attached to it, so to speak. 

**Luthien**:   
It's not so bad. I can just rip the loose bits off. 

**Celegorm**: [embarrased]   
But, well, I mean -- they're going to get awfully grubby, aren't they? 

**Luthien**: [shrugs]   
I wash them in the sink and put them on chairs in front of the fire at night.   
That's what I did while I was on the road. Only streams, of course, not a basin.   
That would have been a little much to carry along. 

**Celegorm**: [distressed look]   
But -- surely -- you weren't just hanging about the woods in the altogether,   
waiting for your garments to dry?! 

**Luthien**:   
Oh, no, I just wore my cape until I finished wringing them. Damp clothes are just   
an annoyance, anyway. They dry out fast enough if you keep walking quickly. 

[Celegorm looks at a loss -- the expression of someone in the difficult situation of   
wanting to say that's barbaric and revolting but recognizing that it would be impolitic   
to say so, and also wanting to find some way to excuse it just because of who the person   
responsible is...] 

**Luthien**:   
Anyway, where is my cape? Surely the Sages can't still be trying to figure out how   
it works? They ought to ask me, if they can't figure it out, though I probably won't   
be able to help them duplicate the results, since I made it all up as I went along. 

**Celegorm**:   
Ah. --Yes. You'd have to check with my brother about that, I really couldn't say   
myself. He'll know how they're coming along -- ask him when you next see him,   
all right? 

[aside] 

Which'll be quite a while if he can help it. 

**Luthien**:   
Maybe you can help me find him after we talk to Orodreth, then? 

**Celegorm**:   
My lady, I'll be happy and delighted to spend the day with you. 

**Luthien**:   
The day?! Surely it won't take that long to get to Orodreth's office! 

**Celegorm**:   
What? Oh -- I mean, it might take a while to get in to see him. He's awfully busy,   
you know. 

**Luthien**:   
Then can we go find Lord Curufin first, and ask him about my cape? 

**Celegorm**:   
Oh, he isn't around right now -- he's out with the Border Guard right now. 

**Luthien**:   
So can we go find him? 

**Celegorm**:   
Well -- they've ridden a good ways out -- 

**Luthien**:   
And? 

**Celegorm**:   
It's dangerous out there, your Highness . . . besides, what do you need it right   
now for? You're not planning on leaving us so soon, I hope! 

**Luthien**:   
So? It's mine. And I'm not comfortable having it out of my hands. It is part   
of me, after all. 

**Celegorm**: [chuckles]   
Was, you mean. 

**Luthien**: [narrow look]   
My hair is still mine. I didn't give it away. 

**Celegorm**: [grinning]   
So, if you gave me a lock, then -- 

[pulls a curl and lets it spring back] 

--would that mean you had a, hah, split personality? 

**Luthien**: [annoyed]   
Please don't touch my hair. --Can we go and find the Regent's office, now, milord? 

[As Celegorm bows and starts walking leisurely back along the way he and Huan came,   
she steps up the pace so that he has to hurry to stay level with her. Something falls   
from the edge of her blue wrap and hits the floor with a sharp clink.] 

**Celegorm**:   
Oh -- 

[halts her] 

**Luthien**:   
What is it? 

**Celegorm**:   
You lost a star. --Part of a star, at least. A ray, looks like-- 

[He bends and picks up the gem for her.] 

**Luthien**: [blankly]   
Oh. 

[keeps walking, disregards it] 

**Celegorm**:   
Don't you want it? I can have someone sew it back on for you-- 

**Luthien**: [shrugging]   
I can do that. It -- just -- isn't very important, really. 

**Celegorm**:   
May I have it? 

**Luthien**: [blinks]   
You've a shortage of quartz, my lord? 

**Celegorm**: [laughs]   
I was going to make it into something else for you, since your mantle's such   
a wreck; I thought it might make the heart of a nice pendant. Though actually   
I'd get my brother to do it -- he's the artist of the family. 

[pause -- Luthien just looks at him] 

What? Don't you wear jewelry in Doriath? Or just things made from natural stuff,   
like, oh, flowers and leaves and all? 

[pause continues] 

**Luthien**: [flatly]   
Aren't there really more important things to be devoting your energy to? --Such   
as getting the rescue mission underway? 

[pause] 

**Celegorm**: [utmost sincerity]   
--We Noldor are good at multitasking, your Highness. 

**Luthien**:   
Ah. 

[Huan's head and tail go lower] 

**Celegorm**: [hurt]   
You don't sound as though you believe me. I'm crushed, Lady Luthien, absolutely   
crushed--

**Luthien**: [troubled]   
Well, I'm not entirely reassured by what I've seen -- or haven't seen. And you   
still haven't explained why you pretended you didn't know what I was talking   
about when you met me, or why you pretended to be "Lords Atarin and Turcofin of   
Nargothrond" --? 

**Celegorm**:   
We weren't pretending. Never said we didn't know what you were talking about,   
did we? 

**Luthien**:   
But -- you know what I mean -- you certainly implied it --?! And you did lie   
about your names and all, didn't you? 

**Celegorm**: [hurt]   
I wasn't lying. Nargothrond is our home now, ever since the War drove us out   
of the North Country, just like your friend Barahirion. 

**Luthien**:   
And your names? 

**Celegorm**:   
We use names from both sides of the family in Aman. The custom's catching on   
here too, I've noticed. One from your mother, one from your father -- plus the   
extras everyone picks up along the yeni. So those really are our names, you see.   
Just not all of 'em. 

**Luthien**: [musing]   
Well, I suppose it saves a couple the trouble of actually having to agree on   
something, doing it that way. 

[Celegorm laughs -- Luthien gives him a frowning look: it wasn't meant to be a joke.   
They start walking again] 

But why did you let me go on like that, like a complete idiot, and not tell me   
you knew all about it or who you were until we reached the City? 

**Celegorm**:   
Well, if we'd said, "Oh, hullo, we're some of Feanor's boys, just happening   
through in your direction with an armed party," wouldn't you have taken off   
again like a pheasant breaking? After all the harsh words your father's had   
for us? 

**Luthien**: [very dry]   
Given the way things have been going between me and my family, lately, I'd be   
far more likely to assume gross exaggeration and given you the benefit of the   
doubt -- but I suppose you couldn't've known that. . . 

**Celegorm**:   
And how were we to know that you weren't some phantom or figment of the Enemy's   
making, sent to lure us into an ambush or whatnot? I mean, it isn't every day   
that my Hound brings me a gorgeous girl instead of a disgusting dead wolf, you   
know. Not until you were inside the City's defenses and didn't disappear or turn   
into a wraith or something fell like that. 

**Luthien**:   
--I've heard of those . . . 

[the Carillion is heard in the halls] 

Oh! There's that bell-thing again -- it's been another what, four hours? Six?   
Can we hurry, please? 

[She darts on ahead, forcing Celegorm to catch up to her, Huan trailing him with   
tail dragging the tiles until they are out of sight around another curve.]   


* * *

**SCENE IV**

**Gower**:   
Those who venture, forsaking paths, in forests dark and dolesome,   
may well find it harder far, returning to ways wholesome-- 

[The royal apartments. Most everything that was Orodreth's is out now. Through one   
of the inner chamber doorways Curufin can be seen -- he goes as if to open a small   
box lying on one of the tables, but hesitates, drawing his hand back before touching   
it. Instead he opens a large flat case next to it and starts to reach in, but stops   
as Finduilas comes stalking quickly into the suite. Hastily he shuts it and turns   
around, coming out into the antechamber.] 

**Finduilas**: [acid]   
So are you just moving in and taking over openly, now? 

**Curufin**: [shrugs]   
Ask your father, Sparkly. 

**Finduilas**:   
I did. I want to hear your version. 

**Curufin**: [mild]   
What does it matter, since you've already made up your mind? 

**Finduilas**:   
--So you are. 

**Curufin**: [raises hands]   
I didn't say that. You did. 

**Finduilas**:   
But you implied it. 

**Curufin**: [surprisingly unsarcastic throughout]   
No, you did. --Did you want something other than to snarl at me, little cousin? 

**Finduilas**:   
I'm here for my music things. And the Nauglamir. 

**Curufin**:   
Yes, I was surprised to see he'd forgotten it . . . 

**Finduilas**: [biting]   
You know he won't touch it. If it weren't so valuable he'd leave it on the   
throne with the Crown, but he says there's no sense in tempting people. 

**Curufin**:   
Well, you know where it is. 

[Finduilas sweeps past him and comes back out with the large case under her arm.] 

**Finduilas**:   
Is that her cape in that casket beside it? The one that feels like there's   
water or wind coming off of it? 

**Curufin**:   
Why do you ask, when you already know? 

**Finduilas**: [caustic]   
What are you keeping it for, anyway? Shouldn't it be in the Research   
Department for study? Or else give it back to her? 

**Curufin**:   
Little cousin, are you being naive or just affected? 

**Finduilas**:   
Oh! I hate you. Don't talk to me! 

**Curufin**:   
I know we've had our differences -- 

**Finduilas**:   
Differences? You take over our home, and you call that -- "differences"? You   
threatened us with civil war, and those are "differences" --? 

**Curufin**: [holding up his hand, overriding her interruptions]   
--Did I ever do that? No. That was the construction your uncle and his partisans   
put on my words, forcing a confrontation for reasons of their own. Ask yourself   
honestly why, after so long a time without difficulty -- whith everything at   
last back to normal, or as close to normal as we will likely see in Nargothrond   
-- he should put us in such a position, fabricating an incident whereby such a   
clash was made inevitable? If that is not at all suspicious, I don't know what is-- 

[pause] 

But that's neither here nor there. I won't argue with you when you've made up   
your mind -- especially when you know you agree with me . . . 

**Finduilas**:   
Stop making it sound like I'm the one being unreasonable -- what do you mean,   
"agree with" you? 

**Curufin**: [shrugs]   
--You don't want to hear what I have to say, so what does it matter? 

**Finduilas**:   
Stop that! You're treating me like a child -- again. 

**Curufin**:   
I beg your pardon. It's difficult being the one to see what those who haven't,   
alas, the same tragic experience can only imagine, and build opinions based on   
lofty ideals and half-heard facts not fully understood. I'm afraid I tend to get   
a bit impatient, which comes out in sarcasm. 

**Finduilas**:   
Don't try to win me over to your side. I'm not stupid. 

**Curufin**:   
I would never suggest it. Merely -- young, and easily led. 

**Finduilas**: [haughty]   
May I remind you, cousin, that I crossed the Grinding Ice, too. 

**Curufin**:   
Indeed. --And why did you have to undergo that ordeal? Who led your group into   
that disastrous adventure? --We didn't tell you to follow us; it isn't my family   
you should be blaming for that expedition, now, --is it? 

**Finduilas**:   
Oh, be quiet! You twist everything around -- 

**Curufin**: [interrupting]   
Yes -- that's what your sweetheart tells you, and I'm sure it's far more pleasant,   
as well as easier, to listen to him than to me. 

**Finduilas**:   
--Gwin doesn't tell me how to think! 

**Curufin**: [clearly disbelieving]   
No? Well, you should know best . . . 

[she does not answer] 

**Curufin**:   
I don't expect you to change your mind about me. But I would request that you   
ask yourself -- you don't have to answer me, either -- just ask yourself,   
honestly, without worrying about what you should think, about permission--   
do you truly think that it's a good thing? --This business of one of us, getting   
romantically involved with a mortal? 

**Finduilas**:   
I don't see that it's anyone's business but theirs. 

**Curufin**:   
Oh, you haven't thought about it at all, then. 

**Finduilas**: [tossing her head]   
You're impossible. I don't want to hear your rationalizations. 

**Curufin**:   
Of course not. You might have to actually think, then. --No, don't stamp your   
foot at me and stomp off, these shoot-from-ambush-and-run tactics aren't worthy   
of a Noldor princess. If you really believe I'm wrong, you'll be able to prove why. 

[Finduilas just gives him a Look, but doesn't say anything to contradict him, or leave.] 

**Curufin**: [mock surprise]   
What, you're going to give me a chance to explain myself? I'm staggered by your   
generosity, your Highness! How can I repay you? 

**Finduilas**: [dryly]   
--Don't press your luck, cousin. 

[but she is starting to smile though she fights it] 

**Curufin**:   
Certainly not, I wouldn't dare -- all right, then, how is this? The ex-Lord of   
Dorthonion is undoubtedly a warrior of great prowess in the fight against our   
common adversary. I would never deny that. But is that enough? Does that actually   
mean anything, when you come right down to it? 

[Finduilas starts to interrupt, but he holds up his hand, and she waits] 

Consider the facts -- the inescapable facts of the world -- which you surely know   
far better than she, on a practical level, not an intellectual one, having spent   
so much of the time since the Return actually in day-to-day contact with Men, not   
simply having heard about them secondhand from the extremes of hostility and   
favoritism, as she. You are aware of the brevity of mortal lifespan. You have heard   
more than mere legends and romantic tales -- you also have heard the true and dreary   
stories of petty squabbles and small concerns that involved the Beorings and their   
allied nations over the centuries. But all that-- 

[He frowns, looking troubled and reluctant to go on -- she gives him an impatient look] 

All that -- might not matter, were the Lady Luthien not who she is, but a simple   
woodland maiden with no other role in society. Her right to ruin her own life,   
her foolish self-deception as to the inevitable tragedy of such a union, would be   
hers alone. But that is not, unfortunately, the case. --She is, after all, like   
you the heir to a great responsibility, the throne of one of the few Elven dominions   
capable of withstanding the Enemy's assaults in these sorry days-- 

**Finduilas**: [interrupting]   
--I'm not the heir to the throne! 

**Curufin**:   
--If not you, then who is? Why else does your father enlist you to do his work   
with him? He, at least, understands the need for prudence, howsoever his   
romantic ideallism wars with his sense of duty. 

**Finduilas**:   
My father can't stand you. 

**Curufin**: [raises his hands helplessly]   
We do not always know our friends -- nor, I venture to say, even like them,   
contradictory as that may seem. 

**Fiunduilas**: [sarcastic expression]   
Friends. 

**Curufin**:   
Say, at least, that we have common cause -- that we -- all of us -- value   
Nargothrond and this realm's people above any abstractions of "duty" and "honour"   
and that as a consequence, we are bound to be misinterpreted and misjudged by those   
who let heart rule head. --Have you not experienced that yourself? Are not you,   
and your future father-in-law, made scapegrace for the unwilling recognition of   
that duty by your fiance? 

[she does not answer] 

I see that you do. 

[Finduilas goes as though they had not had this conversation to get her lute and   
folders of sheet music. Her hands are shaking, her knuckles showing on the Nauglamir's   
case and she drops the portfolios -- while kneeling down to gather them up one handed,   
the lute strap slips off her shoulder. Curufin scoops it all together, puts the lute   
back up for her and hands her the music folios. She glares at him, her expression very   
still now, not scornful, just hostile.] 

Thank you for at least hearing me out, Highness. Just -- think about it, that's all. 

[She says nothing, and walks out with head held high. After she is out of sight,   
Curufin smiles.]   


* * *

**SCENE V.i [mute - no dialogue]**

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


[The Throne Room. It is deserted and dim inside. Huan enters, very slowly, almost   
plodding, his head and tail still dragging. He approaches the throne and stands there,   
not moving, before collapsing down suddenly with a huff and putting his nose down on   
his outstretched forelegs. He lies on the lowest tier of the dais, not asleep, anxious.] 

* * *

**SCENE V.ii**

  
  


**Gower**:   
Blindly spun, the webs, snares and toils of deceit,   
haply may snare not only purposed prey, but other feet-- 

[The antechamber to Orodreth's apartments -- it's more of an indoor formal garden,   
with benches and carved planters integral to floor and walls and some water in raised   
squared channels -- very Amarna in style, in fact. Luthien and Celegorm are sitting   
across from each other on an angle of benches, while an Aide of the Regent sorts   
scrolls from boxes into a rack in an annex on the side which has apparently been   
converted into an outer office. He keeps giving them Looks, covertly. There is a   
definitely closed look to the double doors leading to the inner rooms -- they don't   
look like they're meant to be opened at all.] 

**Luthien**: [earnest]   
So I've been thinking it over, and I think, personally, that we shouldn't rely   
on our forces alone, but ought to send word to your other cousins out West and   
try to get some reinforcements for the assault -- probably keep them for surprise   
and ambuscade on a retreating path, that seems like it might be most effective.   
Of course, you might have already thought of that. Anyway, what do I know about   
offensive missions, and perhaps it's completely foolish? 

[She waits expectantly -- Celegorm is looking at her earnestly, his head a little on   
one side, kind of smiling, but with a bit of a glazed expression. He doesn't answer.] 

**Luthien**:   
--Are you even listening? You look like someone whose next words are going   
to be -- "I think I know why the clouds are white sometimes and why they change   
colors others." Or maybe, "Do you think one could build a flet that would go   
all the way across the river?" 

**Celegorm**:   
Eh? What? No, no, I'm paying attention -- I assure you, no one could possibly   
be paying more attention to you than I am right now. --You were saying--? 

**Luthien**: [exasperated sigh]   
I was saying that after we deal with rescuing them I am going to insist on   
a full-fledged plan of attack. I understand why for reasons of propriety and   
the rules governing quests and all, my cousin might have refused your offer of   
assistance, but obviously a small covert-ops mission is too dangerous, and   
we've got to use all the resources at our disposal. 

[Orodreth's assistant gives them a sudden sharp glance from where he is   
working/eavesdropping, with an angry glare at Celegorm afterwards] 

My father might take exception, but so long as the exact words of his demand   
are fulfilled, I don't think it matters one jot who actually pulls the damned   
thing off Morgoth's crown and so long as we show up with enough of an escort,   
I'm not worried. Even if he tries to argue the legality of it, let me assure you,   
no one has ever won an argument with me when I'm right. I just don't think most   
things are worth arguing over, usually -- I guess I take after my Mom more that   
way, along with my hair. --Did that make sense? 

**Celegorm**: [staring into her eyes again]   
Mm-hmm . . . 

**Luthien**:   
And we should take Huan along, I imagine he must be just as good in a real   
fight as in a hunt-- 

**Celegorm**:   
Oh, he's a terror in battle, death-on-four-legs to Orcs just like wargs, always   
where the fighting's thickest -- Hey, there, you didn't mean "we" when you said   
"we" there, did you? As in you, yourself, did you? 

**Luthien**:   
No, I meant "we" as in us, our side, that's all -- I can't think that I'd be   
anything but in the way, I'm no Galadriel, though I'm better-than-fair at   
patching people up afterwards. 

[aside] 

Though I'm beginning to think I'd better, so that there's one person whose mind   
isn't turned into mush by the Enemy! 

**Celegorm**:   
No, I can't see anyone calling you "tomboy", even with that haircut, hah! 

**Luthien**: [frowning]   
Where is Huan, anyway? I thought he was over there by the, I guess it's a   
pond, but obviously he isn't... 

**Celegorm**:   
Oh, he always wanders about, shows up when you need him. He'll turn up for   
supper, too, you can be sure. 

[pause] 

You really do like him, don't you? 

**Luthien**:   
I think he's wonderful. I wouldn't mind having a Hound like him at all. 

**Celegorm**:   
I warn you, he eats like a horse. 

**Luthien**: [half-smiling]   
Yes, but you wouldn't need a horse with him around, would you? 

[Celegorm laughs] 

**Celegorm**:   
I must say I'm still surprised -- but not really I suppose -- more in awe of,   
your courage. I keep expecting you to be terrified of him. 

**Luthien**: [wry]   
What, because he chased me up and down trees and all around the woods like   
I was some kind of giant black squirrel before carrying me back to you   
like a puppy? 

**Celegorm**: [blinks]   
Er, yes? 

**Luthien**:   
Why? I could tell -- once he stopped chasing me -- that he's Good and wouldn't   
ever hurt anyone not on Morgoth's side. 

**Celegorm**: [admiring]   
You're awfully perceptive. 

**Luthien**: [bitterly]   
Heh. 

**Celegorm**:   
Hey, did I tell you that Orome himself gave Huan to me? 

**Luthien**:   
Yes, you did. Now-- 

**Celegorm**: [oblivious]   
He taught me the language of nature, how to understand animal communication   
and tracking and weather and so forth, you know. That's why I'm such a great   
hunter, y'see. 

**Luthien**: [actually interested for the first time in something he's said]   
Oh, really? That's just like Beren. 

**Celegorm**: [taken aback]   
What? --You're joking. 

**Luthien**:   
No, it's true. --I don't suppose he would have said anything if there wasn't   
a need for it -- it isn't like he brags about his accomplishments, "Oh, I'm   
this great hero and the Terror of the North and all," it's more like --   
"Oh, so you're that Beren?!" and you get back "Er, which one? You mean me or my   
grandad?" It was hours of that before I got him to admit that yes, he was the one   
in the legends Mablung had been hearing, and I can't remember when I heard so   
many qualifications and disclaimers in a single conversation. He used to be the   
best hunter in his homeland, too, before he gave it up. 

**Celegorm**: [chuckling]   
Well, you know how it is, we all say we are, the best at huntin' or fishin' or   
any kind of a sportin' thing! 

**Luthien**:   
Oh, no, I've seen him track things in the dark and charm animals out from cover   
to eat from his hand. 

**Celegorm**: [nonplussed]   
Well. 

[pause] 

--I don't expect he learned it from a god, all the same. 

**Luthien**:   
No, he's almost certainly self-taught. 

[she stops talking and looks rather fixedly ahead, then sniffles] 

**Celegorm**:   
Oh, don't cry -- please don't, I can't stand to see a lady crying-- 

[takes her hand] 

Everything's going to be all right. 

[clasps it in his other hand] 

--Trust me. 

[While she is trying not to break down, Finduilas enters with her various burdens.   
She is almost at the impromptu reception office by the time she notices them there,   
to her great and not-too-pleasant surprise. Setting down her music stuff on a bench   
she takes the Nauglamir into the annex and engages in a hasty whispered conversation   
with the Aide, before going over to where Luthien and Celegorm are sitting.] 

**Finduilas**:   
Luthien. I -- I understand you've been waiting, to talk to my father. 

**Luthien**: [nods]   
Y--yes. He's been in meetings all day. Or night. I'm not sure which it is now. 

**Finduilas**:   
I'm so sorry. He's -- not going to be free for at least another bell. Probably two. 

**Luthien**:   
Oh. Ohhh. 

[She shakes her head, taking a deep breath, and makes an exasperated noise] 

**Celegorm**: [sympathetic but patronizing]   
I did try to tell you, milady . . . 

**Luthien**: [distracted, shaking her head]   
Why--? I don't -- I -- 

[she leans against a bit of decorative wall, panting] 

**Finduilas**: [anxiously]   
You look faint -- Have you eaten at all today? 

**Luthien**:   
I -- I'm not sure. I don't know what time it is down here -- 

**Celegorm**: [masterful]   
--Why don't we see about having something sent up to your rooms, and I'm sure   
our little cousin here will be happy to look after everything, and as soon as   
our good Regent gets free we'll have someone pop along to let you know, all   
right? No sense in you wasting your time and starving here for no good reason,   
is there? 

[Reluctant, but not really up to arguing with both of them, Luthien allows Finduilas   
to take her arm and lead her outside. Celegorm wanders around, looking at the art   
on the walls with a critical eye and surveying the results of the unpacking.] 

**Celegorm**:   
What a mess this place is in! Though I dare say you've made a lot of progress. 

[The Regent's Aide gives him a foul Look; Celegorm keeps poking around the solar] 

So she likes Huan, eh? 

[grins] 

**Aide**: [stiffly]   
Do you need to see His Highness about anything, my lord? 

**Celegorm**: [waves hand languidly]   
No, not at all. Carry on with your filing and whatnot; I've got to see a dog   
about a girl myself . . . 

[He strolls out, whistling; the Aide slams a scroll case into its pigeonhole with   
a loud bang.]   


* * *

**SCENE VI**

**Gower**:   
--Met but with silence, the anxious traveler pursues   
answers -- prevented from her own pursuit, seeks clues   
to the dark mystery wrapped in Nargothrond's fair hues-- 

[Interior of Luthien's apartments. The outer room is a small solar, from which a   
hallway leads to the private suite, and has a paneled door opening onto the hallway   
that is meant to stay open. Around the room are arched panels made to look like   
windows, which are murals made of cut stones set in like stained glass and discreetly   
lit. The decoration is more naturalistic here than elsewhere in Nargothrond, less   
abstract, and it is of course exquisitely lovely. Luthien is standing there with Finduilas,   
looking frustrated as well as tired.] 

**Finduilas**:   
Do you feel better now? 

**Luthien**:   
Not really. --I think your dad's avoiding me. 

**Finduilas**:   
Oh, no, I'm sure you're mistaken -- he -- he's just terribly busy. I hardly   
see him -- and I'm his assistant! 

**Luthien**:   
Then why can't I talk to him? 

**Finduilas**: [patiently]   
Because he's too busy. 

**Luthien**: [leadingly]   
With--? 

**Finduilas**:   
Well -- Nargothrond, of course. 

**Luthien**:   
And--? 

[pause] 

The rescue mission--? 

**Finduilas**:   
Oh -- well -- of course -- that too. 

**Luthien**: [unconvinced]   
Hm. 

[walks over to the nearest of the artificial "windows" and runs her hand across   
the carvings] 

**Finduilas**:   
Aren't those wonderful? That's the view looking west from our house in Tirion. 

**Luthien**: [making conversation]   
The trees are very beautiful. They look almost like real beeches. 

**Finduilas**:   
Oh, those aren't beeches, they're mallorns. They only grow in Aman -- they're   
sacred to Yavanna, you see.. 

**Luthien**:   
Well, they look like they'd be perfect for climbing. I can see why she loves them. 

[Finduilas gives her a funny look] 

Did you bring these with you? They seem -- awfully -- large. 

**Finduilas**:   
No, my aunt made them. These are her rooms when she comes to visit, and she did   
all the decoration for them herself. 

**Luthien**:   
Your aunt is an astounding person. I think she's the only Elf to ever master   
our double-harness loom in a single day. 

**Finduilas**: [not trying to sound patronizing, but doing a darn good job all the same]   
Well, she is Noldor, after all. 

**Luthien**: [frowning]   
Have you seenthe loom my mother invented? The one that weaves the same pattern   
on both sides, only with different colors? It takes most people two days just to   
set it up. And isn't your family half-Teler, anyway? What does that have to do   
with anything? 

**Finduilas**: [nervous giggle]   
Well, -- obviously -- you understand -- 

**Luthien**: [clearly doesn't]   
How long does it take you to set one up? I know she takes the loom she made with   
her, so maybe you've worked on it. Mine was only a quarter-sized version and it   
took longer to make enough width because of that, and it still took me forever   
to warp it all in -- I think I must have spent half the night getting it strung. 

[curious] 

How come you never came to visit us, when your family did? 

**Finduilas**: [awkwardly]   
Oh. Well. So far to go, you know. 

**Luthien**:   
It isn't that far, I've traveled it. And I didn't even have a horse. 

**Finduilas**:   
It's just . . . there were so many things to do here, and . . . you know . . .   
nothing really to do, by comparison. 

**Luthien**: [dry voice]   
Yes, that's why your aunt stayed with us all that time, because there was nothing   
to do there. 

**Finduilas**: [condescending]   
Oh, don't be so sensitive. I'm sure it's a wonderful place. You must be very   
homesick for it, I'm sure. 

**Luthien**: [shrugs]   
It isn't my home any more. It was. But my home is with Beren now. 

**Finduilas**: [shocked]   
But you must have some regrets, leaving your family and your home and everything   
you've ever known -- 

**Luthien**:   
There is one regret I have, yes. 

[brief pause] 

-- That I waited so long to follow after him. 

[recovering/covering, tapping on one of the mallorn images] 

How tall are they? 

**Finduilas**: [a little thrown by the change and topic]   
Um -- tall -- I don't really know exactly . . . 

**Luthien**:   
I wonder if they're taller than Hirilorn -- you could certainly build a house   
there, all right. Looks a good deal easier to get down from, though. Huh. 

[she shakes her head] 

**Finduilas**:   
I can't imagine what you must have been thinking . . . 

**Luthien**:   
Mostly -- I hope I tied that knot properly. 

**Finduilas**:   
Oh! No, I meant -- for all of it. 

**Luthien**: [gloomy]   
They can't do this to me -- How can they do this to me? -- Star and water,   
that's a long way down! Not in any particular order. 

[pause] 

--Was that what you were asking about? 

**Finduilas**:   
Well . . . 

**Luthien**:   
I mean, really there wasn't a lot of thought, just planning, if you see what   
I'm getting at. By the time I actually succeeded in escaping I'd already done   
all the agonizing over it -- there was just a lag between, unfortunately. 

**Finduilas**:   
I more meant, have you really considered it? Do you think it was the wisest   
thing to do? Given the war situation, and your family, and your responsibilities   
to your kingdom and all? 

**Luthien**:   
I'm sorry, are you trying to say I shouldn't have run away, I should have stayed   
stuck in a tree forever? 

**Finduilas**:   
Not exactly, but, well, I mean they wouldn't have left you up there forever, really. 

**Luthien**:   
Considering the fact that their preconditions for release were completely   
unacceptable, and considering how stubborn we all are, forever is exactly what   
we're talking about here. 

**Finduilas**:   
But can't you see their point of view at all? I mean you can't really blame them   
for wanting you to be safe, especially with what you said they said about those   
Orc-raids having been targeted at you all along-- 

**Luthien**: [interrupting]   
I told you I think they were just saying that. Or rather my dad was, because Mom   
didn't say anything, which I think means it wasn't true, though not necessarily,   
because I've never heard her tell a lie in my life -- I don't think she can. Though   
come to think of it I haven't ever heard Dad tell one either. --But I still don't   
believe it, given the situation. 

**Finduilas**: [shrugs]   
Anyway, you can't deny that there are Wolf-riders and awful Things out there --   
it only stands to reason that they shouldn't want you to get hurt by them. Imagine   
how they'd feel if you were captured by the Enemy! 

**Luthien**:   
What, the same way I feel knowing Beren's a prisoner? 

**Finduilas**:   
. . . 

[pause] 

**Luthien**: [relenting]   
Look, I gave them every possible chance. If they didn't want this to happen then   
first, they shouldn't have lost it when they heard about Beren -- did you know   
that Daeron was actually hoping the search parties would shoot him, that's why he   
told my father? I was almost angry enough to throw him out of the tree when he   
admitted that -- and secondly they shouldn't have pulled that craziness about a   
Silmaril on us, and then they shouldn't have expected me to just sit there and say,   
"Oh, well," when my mom says he's been caught! What did she think I was going to do   
with that information? 

[she begins pacing back and forth agitatedly, rant gaining power, while Finduilas   
is being a Good Listener] 

**Luthien**:   
So at that point, they could have given me a division and said "All right,   
you win, we're not going to approve, but at least you're going to go about it   
properly," but no -- we get hours of lectures as if I was some stupid little kid   
caught stringing triplines in the house or something dumb like that, and not   
listening to me at all, and then "Well, we're going to have to lock you in your   
room, but you'd get sick, and you'd probably get out anyway, so we have just   
the solution!" --And then thinking that somehow having Daeron lecture me instead   
was going to work, and not only that but make me "get over" Beren? "Oh, we'll   
just substitute him instead and she won't notice"--? "We like him better, so of   
course she will too"--? I mean, really now! 

[she pauses for breath, huffing indignantly] 

**Finduilas**:   
But you can understand that, can't you? I mean, from a n-- a -- an outsider's   
point of view, Daeron has a lot going for him. He's even famous at the High   
King's court. Everyone loves his music, and even if the cirth aren't as pretty   
as our writing, they are fast and easy. And they've known him long enough to   
know if he's reliable and trustworthy and Good, after all. 

[pause] 

**Luthien**: [very dry]   
If what my parents meant when they said all my life, that the most important   
things were truth and goodness and right judgment and so on, and I should only   
ever marry someone she saw really embodied all of them, -- was that I should   
really marry the old family friend and world-famous artist, composer, and   
inventor of a unique compressed data-storage system who just happened to have   
never thought of me as anything but a little kid until I finally found someone   
who embodied all those qualities -- then they jolly well should have said   
something before! 

**Finduilas**: [discomfort]   
Should they have to? I mean . . . really--? 

**Luthien**:   
Ah, come again? 

**Finduilas**:   
Well, obviously they thought he was suitable for you, if they encouraged you   
to spend so much time together for so long. 

**Luthien**:   
Actually it was because he made a very good babysitter when I insisted on climbing   
into my mother's yarn and trying to crawl through the looms. My father loves music   
but he isn't much of a musician himself, and they could always distract me with the   
flute. And then when I was older they all decided he could teach me too, and that   
would work out well. How was I to know that one day out of the blue he'd stop   
thinking of me as "cute little kid sister" and think "--A tender goddess!" instead? 

[snorts] 

--Idiot! 

**Finduilas**: [shocked]   
But -- he's a genius, Luthien! 

**Luthien**:   
I don't care how many disciplines Daeron counts as a Sage in -- he's still   
an idiot. The fact that he would think that getting my true love killed would   
make me like him better, or at all, just goes to show that lore isn't everything. 

**Finduilas**:   
But don't you feel at all sorry for him? 

**Luthien**:   
Of course. I started talking to him again, didn't I? 

**Finduilas**:   
Well, yes -- but that was because you need his help again, you said. Don't you   
feel you were just using him, rather? 

**Luthien**:   
No, it was long before that. I listened to his apologies for days before I made   
up my mind to escape and figured out how and enlisted him. But regardless -- are   
you trying to say, that because I needed his assistance, I should not have talked   
to him, but only if I hadn't needed anything of him should I have forgiven him?   
That seems rather cruel, not to mention counterproductive. 

[pause] 

**Finduilas**:   
That doesn't make any sense. 

**Luthien**:   
That's what I thought. 

[pause -- she leans back against a "window" and folds her arms] 

I'm sort of getting the impression that you disapprove of what I've done. 

**Finduilas**:   
Well -- I did think it was incredibly romantic at first -- but then . . . I   
actually thought about it, and -- Luthien, how? 

**Luthien**:   
Ah, "how" what? That covers an awful lot of territory. 

**Finduilas**:   
Luthien, he's a child! He's not even half a yen old, and -- It's -- it's just   
wrong. In so many different ways. 

[long silence] 

**Luthien**:   
Do you know how much older my mother is than my father? 

[pause] 

Neither does she. 

**Finduilas**:   
How can you not know how old you are? 

**Luthien**:   
Well -- there wasn't any way to reckon time for most of her life, so it's really   
a meaningless question. But the measurable part -- in the sense of there being   
landmarks, so to speak, is from before there were the Stars, before any of our   
people awoke, and before there were any differences between Elf and Elf in   
Middle-earth. 

**Finduilas**:   
All right -- but that's different. 

**Luthien**:   
How? 

[Finduilas just gives her an exasperated look, as though she is being tiresome] 

I'm serious -- this is what I keep asking, and not getting answers to. 

[starts pacing again as she talks] 

You're being just like them. "Oh, Luthien's gone crazy--" "He must have put some   
kind of Enemy sorcery on you--" "What's wrong with you? Don't you care about your   
mother and me?" "--You always used to be so responsible!" 

[Finduilas, getting tired of turning around every time Luthien does another turn   
up the room, takes a chair from the octagonal table in the center of the room and   
leans forward, being Very Serious.] 

**Finduilas**:   
But don't you think they have a point? 

**Luthien**: [short laugh]   
I'm here, aren't I? 

[pause] 

**Finduilas**:   
I mean, really, to just get engaged to some random stranger you met out walking   
in the woods? Did you actually think they wouldn't get upset? Even leaving aside   
the problematic fact that he's a human and not one of the Kindred. 

[Luthien laughs out loud] 

What? Why are you laughing at me? 

**Luthien**:   
That's the family legend, cousin! Don't tell me you haven't heard -- that's what my   
parents are famous for! It's this great romantic story they tell all the time,   
about how they met, how Dad heard Mom singing and left everything behind to follow   
her and when he touched her Time stood still for them and neither she nor he ever   
looked back to Aman after that. I've heard about it all my life from them, about   
how your priorities change when you meet the the right person and not worrying about   
what the world thinks and all. They're being raging hypocrites about the whole thing. 

**Finduilas**: [nonplussed]   
Well, yes, true, -- 

[recovering] 

-- but that was then. Things were different when they were young. The world is a more   
complicated place, now, and they have responsibilities, and so do you. You can't expect   
them to not be at least concerned, and to have grave reservations about it. 

**Luthien**:   
Why? If they really trusted me to be wise and sensible like they said they did,   
then they would respect my judgment in this too. 

**Finduilas**:   
Now you're being naive, on purpose. 

**Luthien**:   
Naive?! 

**Finduilas**:   
You don't really think that anyone looking at it objectively would consider it   
reasonable or appropriate for you to just enter into a relationship of such   
magnitude without consulting your elders or taking any advice first? 

**Luthien**: [raising eyebrows]   
That's what they did. 

**Finduilas**:   
Yes, but you're the Princess now, you're not just some private individual, not   
answerable to anyone. You have to take practical matters into consideration,   
including how it will affect the people around you -- because that's the most   
important decision in one's life, choosing whom one will marry! 

**Luthien**: [dry]   
Then, wouldn't you agree, it's too important to be decided by committee? 

**Finduilas**: [shaking her head in exasperation]   
Gwin and I thought about it for several decades, before we decided to get engaged,   
just getting to know each other and making sure it would be a good thing for both   
of us, and we made sure our families approved first. It's much less trouble-- 

**Luthien**:   
--Look, you may be indecisive as all get-out, but I've never been used to living my   
life as a reflection of other people's opinions. I've always gone and done exactly   
as I pleased, and my parents never had a problem with it. Until now. 

[Finduilas blinks at the sheer bluntness of her dismissal, but decides to overlook it] 

**Finduilas**:   
But what did you expect would happen when you finally told them about him? Or   
were you even going to? 

**Luthien**:   
I expected that they'd be reasonable and realize that that they'd been mistaken   
about humans all along, I expected that they'd be sensible enough to see his worth   
too and that they'd treat him with the respect he deserves. I meant to introduce   
people to Beren a few at a time, after he wasn't so nervous any more, and have them   
get to know him in a setting where he was comfortable. 

[bitter smile] 

--It never occurred to me that he wouldn't know who I was, which I suppose was   
rather arrogant of me, but I honestly assumed he realized I was the King's daughter   
and I had no idea otherwise until I had to find him and tell him about the problem,   
and he said, "You have parents?" in this shocked voice -- he thought I really was   
completely independent and on my own. 

[sighs] 

He wasn't angry though, he just sort of laughed and said, "It figures," in this   
gloomy way, that he hadn't had anyone trying to kill him for over a year and   
he shouldn't have expected it to last. 

**Finduilas**:   
But then once you realized they were not going to be pleased, or sympathetic,   
didn't you have any second thoughts about throwing away your position and your   
happiness for a Man? 

**Luthien**:   
Finduilas, he isn't just "a Man" -- he's Beren. Of all the people I know or   
have ever met -- he's the most beautiful. 

[Finduilas gives an astonished laugh] 

What? 

**Finduilas**:   
Luthien! How can you say that?! Beautiful--? 

[Luthien just Looks at her] 

He -- he's so scruffy, Luthien! Even when he tries, he still looks such a mess!   
I mean, really, his hair -- couldn't you have at least cut it for him? 

**Luthien**: [astounded]   
Is that what you think is important? 

**Finduilas**:   
It isn't just that -- he's got scars. And his hair is already going pale the   
way theirs does-- 

**Luthien**:   
So? My father's hair is completely that color. 

**Finduilas**: [patronizing]   
You don't know much about Men, do you? 

[Luthien gives her a Look again] 

It means they're getting old. 

**Luthien**:   
Beren's not old, not even by human standards -- you were just complaining about that. 

**Finduilas**:   
It isn't just that, it means that their bodies are starting to wear out. 

**Luthien**: [an edge creeping in]   
I heard that Beren made it here from Menegroth half as quickly as I did. And I can   
go without sleep a lot longer than he can. That doesn't sound worn out to me. 

**Finduilas**:   
But he was in awfully bad shape when he got here. 

**Luthien**:   
--So was I. It's not much fun travelling cross-country by yourself, without anyone   
to help you and no proper gear. --But you know, you can do it, and -- you still get   
there. He's not "worn out" or old, Finduilas, he just went through a horribly   
stressful time and was very sick for a while afterwards. If you'd ever seen him   
fight you wouldn't even ask. 

**Finduilas**:   
When did you see him fight? 

**Luthien**: [shrugs]   
Well, not fight, exactly, but I've watched him practicing lots of times. 

**Finduilas**: [bewildered]   
Why? 

**Luthien**: [holding out her hands]   
Because it's beautiful. It's like a dance of another kind. Don't you ever watch   
your Gwin at training? Beren's spectacular -- I think he's as good as Mablung   
that way. Oh, and they have these dances with swords, real dances, that they do   
-- used to do -- for Arien, I finally got him to stop being self-conscious and   
show me, and they're amazing. And rather scary. Just the coordination and the   
sharp edges and everything-- 

**Finduilas**:   
-- Luthien, are you listening to yourself? Do you know how twisted that sounds?   
How -- how unladylike? My aunt is a little wierd that way, but with four older   
brothers encouraging her, everybody kind of expects it. But you -- I mean, you're   
not a warrior, and -- swords, for the gods?! 

**Luthien**:   
What? Just because I don't do it myself doesn't mean I can't appreciate it. 

**Finduilas**:   
But -- don't you think there's something wrong with using violence to honor the   
Powers? They don't approve of war and weapons. 

**Luthien**: [raises eyebrows]   
News to me -- my mother doesn't have a problem with them as such. And didn't   
they do an awful lot of it themselves before we showed up? The Wild Hunt and   
the assault on Angband and all? 

**Finduilas**:   
How can you have such a neutral attitude towards fighting? 

**Luthien**: [shrugs in turn]   
Maybe because we'd been doing it for centuries before you all arrived. We don't   
have your superstitious attitude about it. Or about weapons. 

**Finduilas**:   
Superstitious?! 

**Luthien**: [shrugs]   
Well, you're obviously very uncomfortable with them, in a "we'd rather pretend   
it's not something we really do, just on the side, out of necessity," kind of   
way and I've noticed that before among you Noldor, a lot of you. You just, well,   
make a bigger deal about it than we do. 

**Finduilas**: [superior tone]   
Surely you don't mean to say that you think War is a good thing? 

[Luthien stops pacing and puts her hands on her hips, giving her a very ironic Look] 

**Luthien**: [very dry]   
Considering that there was a very real chance of us getting wiped out by Orcs   
before you ever showed up, and we stopped it only with appalling casualty levels,   
and considering that we still have to deal with incursions -- and therefore   
casualties -- on a regular basis along the borders, and considering that my   
mother, and her assistants, and that includes me, are the ones to deal with the   
consequences -- the chances of that are pretty fair slim, wouldn't you say?   
--How many poisoned arrows have you had to dig out of people lately, cousin? 

[Finduilas gives an incredulous laugh, not sure she's serious] 

What, you've never had to cut metal fragments out of someone before? Without   
letting them bleed to death while you're at it? It's not my idea of fun, either. 

**Finduilas**:   
We have trained specialists to do that kind of work properly. Anyhow, you're   
changing the subject. 

**Luthien**:   
No, I'm not. You already did. 

**Finduilas**:   
Honestly, Luthien, that's rather childish, don't you think? The point is, that   
he won't live very long, no matter what. Not by our standards. And then what? 

[earnestly] 

Have you thought about this? About the fact he can't possibly live more than   
sixty years more, at most? And that for most of those -- if he lives so long --   
he'll be decrepit? And afterwards he won't be waiting for you in Aman, either. 

**Luthien**: [wide-eyed]   
--Thank-you for putting it so clearly, I never would have guessed that, despite the   
fact that we rent a quarter of our western frontier to mortals and we've only been   
hearing about them from Finrod since they first showed up in Beleriand. 

[raising her voice slightly] 

Of course I understand that Beren's people are more fragile and short-lived than   
we are! What I don't understand is why you are all so blasé about the fact that   
your King is in prison, isn't it stranger that you don't seem to care about   
getting your people out than that I want to get my true-love out -- and you're   
treating me like I'm the irrational one here? 

[pause] 

**Finduilas**:   
You don't have to be so rude. But I understand that you're still exhausted and   
extremely stressed, so I'm making allowances. 

[Luthien only stares at her, then runs her hands through her hair, making it stand up   
even more, and turns away to look at the "window" that shows mountains in the distance,   
putting her palm flat against the carving.] 

**Luthien**: [leaden voice]   
--Yes. I'm that. Thank you, cousin. 

**Finduilas**:   
And what if you have children? What will they be? 

**Luthien**: [turning back]   
Er, --people? 

**Finduilas**: [exasperated]   
Please try to be serious. I meant, would they be Elves or mortals? Can you even   
have children together? 

**Luthien**:   
I don't know. As far as we know we're the first mixed-race couple in history.   
Except for my parents, of course. 

[raises her hands] 

--Does it matter? 

**Finduilas**: [still more exasperated]   
Luthien, I'm trying to have a serious conversation! 

**Luthien**:   
Why do you think I'm not? If we can, we can. If we can't, we can't. Worrying   
about it won't change things. Mortals aren't guaranteed children either --   
nobody's actually guaranteed anything in life, are they, really? I mean, look   
at what happened to the gods! 

**Finduilas**:   
But what will you do after he dies? I know it isn't the same, but still -- it   
would be awfully strange to marry a second time. I can't imagine what anyone else   
would think of it, how they would feel, knowing . . . It almost seems indecent,   
frankly. 

[Luthien turns around abruptly] 

**Luthien**: [disbelieving]   
Why would I want to marry anyone else? 

**Finduilas**:   
But . . . but you'll be . . . you'll be all alone. 

**Luthien**:   
I never wanted to marry anyone before I met Beren. Why should I think that would   
ever change? 

**Finduilas**:   
But . . . eventually you'll meet your soulmate, of course, and what then? 

**Luthien**: [gesturing widely]   
Finduilas -- he is my soulmate. I will never love another. --Who could compare?   
It would be unjust to anyone else to set him against Beren. 

**Finduilas**: [nervous laugh]   
You're so melodramatic, Luthien. You can't mean it. 

**Luthien**:   
--Are you so blind that you really can't see past externals? --That fine clothes and   
combed hair are the most important things to you? You'd never make it in the woods. 

**Finduilas**:   
It isn't just that, it's everything. The -- the gulf, of background, culture,   
everything that goes with age -- I don't see how it could work. I mean, yes, he's   
certainly a hero, and I do appreciate his valiant efforts against Morgoth, but   
when all is said and done there isn't anything he can actually do except kill   
things, is there? 

**Luthien**: [shaking her head, wry]   
Is that what he said? He's too shy. He sings beautifully. And he has the true   
dancer's grace. 

**Finduilas**:   
Now you're sounding superficial. --Aren't you? 

**Luthien**: [looking up at the ceiling]   
No, -- I was just trying to correct your misunderstanding that he has no talent,   
that he's inferior because he doesn't care about art. That's just not true. 

**Finduilas**:   
But does he make anything? He said not, to Celebrimbor. 

**Luthien**:   
Finduilas, when would he have had time to make anything, or learn to make   
anything? He was hunted like a wild animal for most of the last ten years, while   
he was hunting down Orcs and trying to defend the last holdouts who hadn't fled   
the North-country already. --Do you know he had to bury his father and family   
and all his friends? I cried when he told me how his dad didn't want to send   
him to find out if it was true that Sauron himself had come out from the Fortress   
to get them, because he was afraid he'd never see him again, and -- it was true,   
but not that way. Can you imagine living that kind of life? 

**Finduilas**: [nodding]   
Oh, so it's that you felt sorry for him. Well, I can understand that, but -- to   
risk your life, your happiness, because of sentimentality is rather excessive.   
Spouses should be equals -- that's what "match" means, after all. Pity isn't   
enough to make a lasting relationship. 

**Luthien**:   
No, I'd been seeing him for some time before he told me about the really miserable   
bits -- I only knew some of the legends of Beren, and frankly I was more than a bit   
intimidated and figured he'd think I was rather silly and useless compared to him.   
--And now you're going to say, "Hero-worship isn't enough to build a relationship   
on." Right? 

[Finduilas gives her a Look, but doesn't say anything.] 

I've got Ages of practice at this -- I only did it half the summer, I can probably   
do both sides of the argument if you want to leave. 

**Finduilas**:   
Please don't be so hostile, cousin. I'm only trying to help you, because I don't   
think you've really thought things through. Being sarcastic doesn't help matters any. 

**Luthien**:   
I'm tired of this being treated like a fool. I thought you were on our side, and   
now you're doing it too! Didn't you talk to him while he was here? You must have   
seen how kind and intelligent and noble he is -- 

**Finduilas**:   
--Luthien. Look me in the eyes and tell me: Do you truly believe he is -- could   
possibly be -- your equal? 

**Luthien**:   
Yes. 

**Finduilas**: [knowing look]   
You're just saying that. 

**Luthien**: [angry]   
No, I'm not! --Well, yes, I am just saying it, but I'm "just saying it" because I   
just believeit. I wouldn't "just say" it if it was otherwise. What's wrong with you? 

**Finduilas**:   
I'm just afraid that you've put yourself into the position where you have to keep   
saying and defending what you've started out because you're too proud and too   
committed to keeping your own opinions to actually be objective. I don't think   
you're being fully honest when you say that you think you're really suited well.   
I think you're rushing into things. I grant completely that Lord Beren is a wonderful   
human being -- but he's still a human, not an Elf. 

**Luthien**: [icy]   
You might have gathered I'm not very pleased with my parents right now, but one   
thing in my father's benefit -- he's at least consistent. He doesn't despise   
mortals but use them anyway. 

**Finduilas**:   
You're putting words into my mouth, Luthien! That isn't what I said. 

**Luthien**:   
No? Because it sure sounds like it. That you, at least, think they're good enough   
to fight your war and get killed in it, but not as good as real people. 

**Finduilas**:   
You're reading things into what I said that aren't there. I just don't see how this   
can work. What can you possibly have to talk about, for example? How can you converse   
on the same level? --What do you see in him as a potential consort? 

[silence] 

**Luthien**:   
--The world. 

[brief pause] 

Finduilas, the way he sees it -- the way he simply revels in learning about it,   
about everything, about music and trees and the names of the Stars and the stories   
and making things and everything -- it's as though I'd never seen it properly, all   
the things I thought I knew and understood and have taken for granted for centuries,   
and now he's learning them all for the first time, and I'm seeing it new as well--! 

**Finduilas**: [very knowing tone]   
That doesn't sound anything like a match of equals. It sounds like you enjoy   
having him around because he's so much more ignorant than you that he can't help   
but look up to you, and that makes you in turn feel like a Sage, because it's   
incredibly flattering to have such unquestioning respect and admiration. 

[kindly] 

--Which is understandable.   
**Luthien**:   
You're quite wrong about that. Beren isn't ignorant, he knows lots of things --   
his mind's like a dark mirror -- 

**Finduilas**: [frowns]   
--That doesn't sound attractive at all 

**Luthien**: [exasperated]   
Haven't you ever seen a pool at midnight when it's so black you can't even see   
the trees in it, only the stars are reflected with absolute clarity and it seems   
like it goes on forever, it's so deep--? That's what his thoughts are like, he   
just observes, with this amazing detail, and the faintest light is caught and   
noticed -- and then it's as if it changes, like the same pool freezing over,   
only instead of ice it's silver, and everything's reflected brightly and light   
is cast on all kinds of things nobody else ever saw before, and that's what   
talking to him is like. --Why are you so worried about me when-- 

**Finduilas**:   
--Well, it is worrying. It's unprecedented, it's very strange, and you just keep   
trailing off when you're asked about him as if you're embarrassed about it all or   
talking as though unable to say anything sensible, so what else are we supposed   
to think? 

**Luthien**:   
No, that isn't it at all--! Do you -- you don't just talk about your private   
moments in public with everyone, do you? To people you don't know very well at   
all? Especially when everyone's been unsympathetic to it earlier and all your   
friends have deserted you. 

**Finduilas**:   
Well, he left you too, so you could say he deserted you as well. 

**Luthien**:   
No, deserting me would have been if he'd said, "--I'm really sorry, it's been   
great knowing you, but I'm going west to see if I can find any of my own people   
left and settle down with a nice mortal girl who doesn't have insane relatives   
giving me the choice between death, life imprisonment or a task that all the Kings   
of Arda and all their armies couldn't manage between them." Which, if he'd said it,   
I really couldn't have blamed him very well, either. Finduilas, Beren and I . . .   
he . . . he's -- I'm doing it again. 

[shakes her head, laughing bitterly at herself] 

All right, little cousin, you want details, you want to know it all, you want to   
understand. I will tell you -- but you have to promise not to be negative about it,   
not make sarcastic remarks while I'm telling the story. 

[she sits down on the bench across from Finduilas' chair, under one of the "windows"] 

So -- what do you want to know first? 

**Finduilas**:   
Well, you've never even really explained how you two met -- I thought no one   
could get into Doriath without your mother's permission. Were you outside the   
borders somehow? 

**Luthien**:   
No, he just walked right through them without even noticing them. And Mom never   
knew he was there, either. 

[darkly] 

--Which should have told them something right away. 

**Finduilas**:   
How could it, if they didn't know he was there? 

[Luthien closes her eyes, rubbing her temples] 

**Luthien**:   
I meant, when they found out. 

**Finduilas**:   
Oh -- I see. So you really just ran into each other, completely randomly, without   
any introductions or anything, without knowing who the other one was, and decided   
that you were soulmates just like that. with just one look? Honestly, Luthien, that   
doesn't make any sense! How many people do you really know who haven't grown up   
together, or at least known each other for Great Years, before falling in love? 

[Luthien starts to open her mouth] 

And you're going to say your parents again, aren't you? 

[pause] 

**Luthien**: [deadpan, loftily]   
--It was a very long look. 

[Finduilas glares at her] 

It was a little more complicated than that. It seemed like coincidence at the   
time, but I'm not sure really . . . was it coincidence for my parents? I just   
felt one night that I had to go to the upper reaches of Esgalduin -- I guess it   
was like Beren deciding he had to come down into Doriath, that that was where   
he was supposed to be, except that I didn't have any wargs hunting me, of course.   
I said to Daeron, "Let's go to Neldoreth, we haven't worked in Neldoreth for such   
a long time." And he said, "Because there's no one in Neldoreth," and I said,   
"Except trees," and he said, "Oh, well, trees! That's rather boring, don't you   
think? They're not very appreciative an audience." And I started teasing him about   
being too vain to be a proper Sage, that the truly enlightened don't care about   
applause and that he was just concerned to impress the Singers, and if he was that   
lazy I'd just go by myself, I didn't really need an accompanist-- So he made this   
show of "Oh, the things I put up with for little Luthien, catering to her every   
whim," and we went . . . 

[she stops, looking into the middle distance] 

**Finduilas**: [reminding]   
Luthien . . . 

**Luthien**: [wry laugh]   
--Right. 

[giving herself a little shake] 

Anyway, we went to Neldoreth, and Beren heard us and came to investigate -- and   
that's another sad thing about it all, Daeron hating him and Beren having no more   
idea of it than I, because he simply admired Daeron's performance skills and   
compositional abilities without limit. Daeron couldn't have asked for a more   
appreciative audience, Beren had never heard anything like it -- not that anyone   
has, of course, Daeron really is that good -- but not even remotely similar, their   
music's completely different from ours-- 

**Finduilas**: [patronizing]   
Well. In quality perhaps. 

**Luthien**: [checking]   
What do you mean? 

**Finduilas**:   
Well, Men don't really have any culture of their own -- they've borrowed it all   
from us, you know, starting with the language. 

[pause] 

**Luthien**: [chilly]   
That isn't what Finrod says. He's always talked about the creativity of mortals   
and their ability to make new things, to adapt. 

**Finduilas**: [uncomfortable]   
Oh. Well. He would. 

**Luthien**:   
Explain, please? 

**Finduilas**:   
Well -- everyone knows my uncle is an incurable extrovert, going around talking   
to everybody, Dwarves and the Nandor and the coastal folk and the locals and-- 

[breaks off] 

**Luthien**: [very dry]   
--Us? 

**Finduilas**:   
. . . 

**Luthien**:   
Sorry -- do go on--? 

**Finduilas**:   
. . . but mortals have always been a particular hobby of his. Very likely   
because they are so ignorant and helpless on their own, not like the Naugrim   
or the native tribes. 

[Luthien gives her a shrewd look.] 

**Luthien**:   
--Really. You don't say. 

[aside] 

I wonder where you got that from. Not from listening to him!

[aloud] 

Well, I don't agree with you on the matter of culture. But anyway, you wanted   
to know about the romantic parts, and you were supposed to not keep interrupting   
me and making caustic remarks. 

[looks severely at Finduilas] 

Do you want me to go on, or not? 

**Finduilas**: [contrite]   
I'm sorry. Please keep going. 

**Luthien**: [tossing her head]   
Right, then. --Beren came right out, he had no idea how surprised we would be,   
of course, and Daeron shouted to me that there was a stranger, and took off,   
but I just stood there, I couldn't believe it, until I saw this shadow out in   
the open at the edge of the wood, and I still couldn't believe it, because I   
couldn't recognize anything about it -- I had no sense of any sort whatsoever   
looking at him, and Daeron was calling me like I was an idiot, and then I got   
scared and disappeared into the woods as well -- and he vanished too. 

**Finduilas**:   
Vanished? 

**Luthien**:   
Completely - there was no sign of him after, and we decided we must have been   
startled by shadows, or an animal, and laughed at ourselves afterwards, because   
we knew that no enemy could have come through the Maze. 

[getting indignant again] 

And there, you see, is the thing that's the crux of this whole stupidity. If   
Daeron really thought that Beren was a danger to us, to Doriath or to me --   
then why did he wait for almost half the year before even breathing a word of   
Beren's presence in the woods? He knew perfectly well that Beren was not evil,   
not dangerous, and not a threat, and any attempt to justify his behavior by   
claiming "good intentions" is just so much nonsense. If he really had them, he   
should have gone straight to my parents and our captains and got them out there   
that night, and not gone sneaking around for nearly two seasons dithering   
about it. 

**Finduilas**: [trying to put the best construction on it]   
Well . . . perhaps he just wanted to be sure . . . 

**Luthien**:   
You don't even believe that, and you're saying it. So -- was it at first sight?   
No, for me: I saw a shadow. One that frightened me -- but not like anything fell,   
not like the fear of hearing a wolfpack on the borders or waiting for casualties   
to come in from a battle or like the sense you get when the wind is blowing   
steadily out of Angband for days. It was like . . . 

[long pause, Finduilas clears her throat politely] 

--It was like the start you get when you're out on a clear day and not a cloud   
in sight and the sun is suddenly cut off, and you realize it's not a cloud --   
that shadow on the ground is wings, and you look up quick in hopes you don't miss   
them before they're past. 

**Finduilas**: [short laugh, quickly stifled]   
Are you trying to say that he was a divine messenger?! 

**Luthien**:   
No, I was saying it was like that, that sense that of something meaningful and   
important -- real fear, not because of anything so trivial as physical danger,   
but because you realize that here is something different: a change, a choice,   
-- a challenge, and you can either accept it or refuse it but you can't not do   
either. --Haven't you ever had anything like that in your life? 

[Findilas looks away nervously] 

Oh, of course -- the Return. That was a decision you had to make, right, not let   
other people make it for you. --Or did you? 

**Finduilas**: [severely]   
You don't know what you're talking about, Luthien, so please stop. 

[forcibly returning the conversation to topic] 

But obviously that wasn't what made you decide you were soul-mates, or Daeron   
betray you -- it doesn't sound like under normal circumstances you'd ever have   
ended up together, from what you've just told me. 

**Luthien**:   
Yes, --obviously -- there's more. 

[sighs] 

I couldn't help having this nagging conviction that there really had been   
someone there, and that because nothing evil could get through, I shouldn't   
have been afraid, and that I needed to find out who or what was there. So I   
went back, many times, and I even dragged Daeron into Neldoreth again once or   
twice, in case it was the flute-playing that had been the important part, but   
although I sometimes thought perhaps someone was there, some sort of unknown   
presence, I never saw him again. 

[smiling in spite of herself] 

--Until I decided to call the Spring there, and he came as if from nowhere   
and joined me in my dancing and I was so astonished I didn't even react at   
first -- here I'd been looking, and then when I wasn't, he appeared -- and   
I didn't know what to say or do, and he put his arms around me as if he knew   
me since forever, and I was so startled I just ducked away and ran. And he   
followed me, and called my name, and it was as if the whole silent forest   
called out to me then . . . 

[long silence] 

**Finduilas: **[very strained]   
Was he afraid of you before that? Was that why he stayed hidden? 

**Luthien**:   
No, he wanted to speak to me, but he couldn't manage to do so until that night. 

**Finduilas**:   
Why? 

**Luthien**:   
He didn't know why, he just couldn't. Every time he wanted to approach and talk   
to me it was as though he were bound and gagged, and he could only watch until   
I was gone, and then follow me. 

**Finduilas**: [appalled]   
So not only was he a complete stranger, but you're saying he was crazy as well?   
And you wonder why your parents were upset! 

**Luthien**:   
No! They didn't know about that. And he wasn't crazy. Not much. It was just   
something he had no control over. 

**Finduilas**:   
That's part of what "being crazy" entails, Luthien. 

**Luthien**: [gesturing fiercely]   
But you've seen him -- you know he's as sane as I am. It was just circumstances.   
--Not like Feanor, who did it to himself, from what everyone's said. Beren's not   
dangerous. 

**Finduilas**:   
He's a warrior, Luthien, of course he's dangerous. Add mental disturbance to that   
and -- what were you thinking?! 

[silence] 

**Luthien**: [very softly]   
He called my name. He called my name, and I knew from the first instant I heard   
his voice that he would never ill-wish me, never harm me, and I stopped and waited   
for him, because I had to, and he came running up to me and -- I saw him -- Not a   
shadow, but him, his eyes, he -- he was like the brightest of fire, brighter than   
anyone else I've ever met, and -- he kissed me, and everything . . . just . . .   
stopped . . . we could have stood there for hours, just looking at each other -- 

[ruefully] 

--we did, because all the sudden the nightingales weren't singing, the blackbirds   
were, and the sky was getting light and I panicked because I was so far from home   
and it was the first day of Spring and everything we had to do for it that I hadn't   
even started and I was -- rather -- overwhelmed, and I went dashing off before he   
could call me again or before I even remembered to ask his name . . . 

[silence] 

Finduilas, he called my name -- 

**Finduilas**: [coolly]   
How did he know it? Did he spy on you and Daeron talking? 

**Luthien**:   
No, you don't understand, it was my own name, not Luthien, not my old one,   
the first one anyone had ever given me -- except "little" and that's hardly   
a proper aftername, is it? 

[softly] 

He called me "Nightingale" . . . 

[Finduilas says nothing, with visible effort] 

**Luthien**: [rapt]   
I went back home and all that day it was as if I was two people, not one, the   
calm ordinary one on the outside that everyone saw, just plain old Luthien,   
doing her rituals and tasks and practicing and walking around on the earth, and --   
someone new, someone who was soaring through the air, singing, as though the   
nightingale had become a lark, someone who didn't just belong as part of Doriath,   
but who owned the whole world, who could do anything, because a mirror had been   
held up to me and for the first time I saw that I had wings -- and no one noticed. 

[shakes her head, frowning slightly] 

And then at sunset I walked back to Neldoreth, and I was so frightened, I didn't   
know if it was real anymore, or if -- I just wandered around, hardly knowing what   
direction to take -- and I found him, as if I couldn't have not found him, and he   
was so different, not the tireless hunter who'd been following me but someone   
exhausted and sad, just lying there on the ground by the stream -- 

[in a rush] 

-- and that's not what drew me, that he was weak, all right? -- 

[sighing] 

and when I went up to him and touched his face and he looked at me and the   
amazement in his eyes -- I knew he'd been as afraid as I was that it wasn't   
real, that I wouldn't come back, and I knew I hadn't set my heart too high   
or in vain . . . 

**Finduilas**:   
Why would you think otherwise? 

**Luthien**:   
I didn't know what kind of spirit he was -- he'd disappeared before, he had come   
through the security system without getting caught in it, you never know who you   
might meet in a forest-- 

**Finduilas**: [trying not to smile]   
You -- you thought he was a Power in disguise, like your mother?! 

**Luthien**: [intensely]   
I didn't say that, I only said I didn't know what he might be, I couldn't tell--   
I just knew then that he was real, that he was someone I could never have imagined,   
a strange dominion given to me alone to explore, and know, and understand, and that   
I could never have dreamed such richness existed, and that this was what I had been   
choosing towards since that first glimpse of a strange shadow on a Summer night --   
and so yes, it was a very long look after all. 

[longish silence, Luthien looks hopefully and anxiously at Finduilas, who is impassive.] 

**Finduilas**:   
Well. That's a very unique story --if most unconventional. 

**Luthien**: [snapping back into combat mode again just like that]   
You want unconventional, you should listen to my parents when it's really late,   
or early, rather, and the wine's been flowing and they're getting all sentimental   
and reminiscing about the oldest days. Then you'll hear the story about the first   
time my father saw my mother and she was taking a nap in some leaves and he touched   
her hair and got knocked out for probably years before he woke up and went looking   
for her again. I tell you, we've got nothing on them. 

**Finduilas**: [dismissive]   
Oh, well, people are like that. 

[superior tone] 

But can't one sort of see why Daeron might feel justified in spying on you?   
If you'd been encouraging Beren-- 

**Luthien**:   
--Don't make me responsible for Daeron's neuroses! If he'd actually used that   
famous mind of his none of this would have happened. --Probably. I wasn't   
encouraging Beren to spy on me, I was trying to encourage him to reveal himself   
-- if he was really there. I didn't know. All I knew was that there seemed to be   
an invisible presence watching over me in Neldoreth -- a benevolent one -- but   
nothing I'd ever heard or sensed before, but still -- familiar, somehow. 

**Finduilas**:   
That doesn't sound romantic at all -- it just sounds creepy. 

**Luthien**: [frustrated]   
It wasn't creepy -- it was a little spooky that he was able to sneak up on me   
twice -- only the first time was sort of by accident, and it was really funny,   
actually, because there I was standing so perfectly hidden that he almost walked   
right into me, I must have jumped ten feet -- but that's because he just disappears   
when he's in the forest, he's not just quiet, no one can even sense him, not even   
Beleg -- except I can, now -- his mind just changes and becomes perfectly still,   
like a fox's. 

**Finduilas**:   
That still sounds creepy. 

**Luthien**:   
Well, it isn't -- you've met him, he isn't creepy, -- he's Beren. It -- I -- Oh,   
honestly! Do you think Huan's creepy, having him around, having him watching you? 

**Finduilas**:   
You're just making it sound worse and worse. 

**Luthien**: [raising her hands for a moment, letting them fall into her lap]   
You're just choosing not to understand. 

**Finduilas**: [thoughtful]   
Wait - you said you hadn't worked in Neldoreth for a while; that means you   
weren't just dancing, you were wielding an awful lot of power, both yours and   
the land's, correct? 

**Luthien**: [wary]   
Yes . . . 

**Finduilas**: [meaningfully]   
So he got caught in a Working. I see. 

**Luthien**: [wary]   
What's that supposed to mean? 

**Finduilas**: [condescending]   
Mortals can't cope with power unshielded and without precautions. Something that   
has only the appropriate effect on one of us has much more drastic and unpredictable   
impacts on them -- though of course you couldn't be expected to know that. If he   
just wandered into the middle of it like that, with no idea even of what was   
happening to him, it would be almost like training the horses, like a yearling   
being calmed for saddle or a foal imprinting -- he wouldn't be able to help it.   
And with the forest's power invoked too, -- no wonder he never wanted to leave that   
area. He was simply bound to it, and you. 

**Luthien**:   
No. That's not true. 

**Finduilas**: [sympathetically]   
Look, I do understand why you wouldn't want to believe that, because well, it isn't   
very flattering to think that someone is only attracted to you because of something   
that might as well be no more than animal instinct, as well as the fact that you must   
be feeling responsible already for the difficulties it's caused, but one does have   
to face facts-- 

**Luthien**: [interrupting, shaking her head]   
--No, you don't understand -- perhaps it was like that a little, at first, but   
-- no -- Beren's not under any working of mine, you might as well say he put a   
working on me, with his voice! He really does love me-- 

**Finduilas**:   
But how could you tell? It doesn't sound like the action of a rational individual   
uncontrolled by anything to be willing to just obey a mad, impossible, and suicidal   
order without even stopping to think about it, does it? It sounds like -- and   
please don't get angry, cousin -- someone who's been brainwashed by the Enemy,   
really. Are you really sure that he's in love with you, or has he only been   
overwhelmed by your aura instead? 

**Luthien**:   
Beren doesn't do anything without a reason -- granted it might be a really horrific   
reason, like taking on Sauron single-handed because there wasn't anyone else left to   
do it -- but he isn't this weak-minded person who just does things because someone   
else wants him to. It might seem like a completely insane decision to you, but if   
it's the only way to do it, like taking on an entire company of Orcs to recover his   
father's hand, or crossing the Ered Gorgoroth, then he figures out the most simple   
way and just starts and keeps on til he's done it. If my father had actually listened   
to me talking about him he wouldn't have expected that asking for the wretched   
jewel would ever deter Beren from claiming my hand. How can I d-- 

**Finduilas**: [breaking in]   
--Now you're making him sound rather frighteningly disturbed again. 

[Luthien runs her hands wildly through her hair again, with the suggestion of one   
only barely restrained from screaming] 

**Luthien**:   
Either I'm not explaining very well or you're not listening very well.   
Beren is unlike anyone I've ever met, in the best way possible, and when I met   
him I finally understood exactly why your uncle would want to put so much time   
and effort into working with mortals when he doesn't have enough time to do the   
things he really wants to do anyway, and more than enough work already. 

**Finduilas**: [sharply]   
I don't know what you mean. My uncle always does just what he wants, going   
off wandering about talking to people instead of finishing the projects he's   
already working on. 

[Luthien does not miss her discomfort at every mention of Finrod in the conversation] 

**Luthien**: [rather condescending]   
--You don't know what he does, do you? 

**Finduilas**: [defensive]   
What do you mean? 

**Luthien**: [amazed]   
You really don't. I always wondered when he and your aunt would joke about how   
odd it was that they'd let a dilettante dreamer like him be in charge, whether   
they were really joking or whether it wasn't a bit serious. And now I know I   
was right. 

**Finduilas**: [annoyed out of gentility]   
Would you please explain yourself or stop being cryptic, Luthien? 

**Luthien**:   
Do you have any idea how many minor wars and territorial disputes he's stopped or   
averted, just by "wandering about talking to people?" Do you have any idea how much   
chaos you all threw Beleriand into by just turning up out of the dark and carving   
up the countryside? Cutting down trees and sticking up towers on sacred sites and   
insulting people you didn't even know existed? Not to mention the fact that a lot of   
the Kindred blamed you for the Sun anyway. If he wasn't so good at "wandering about   
talking to people" do you think things would have been so easy for you? 

**Finduilas**:   
Why would anyone blame us for the Sun? Do you mean those tribes of nomads in   
the hills? Isn't everyone happy to have the light? --Except for fell things,   
of course. They should be grateful that we came to save them from the Enemy! 

**Luthien**: [sighing]   
Oh, honestly, I'm too tired to try to explain a thousand years of politics and   
cultural upheaval to -- from scratch. 

[aside] 

--to someone who clearly hasn't been paying attention to the last half-millenium   
of them! 

[aloud] 

Short version -- Shade is nice. Finding your large familiar boulders chopped up   
and turned into a watchtower isn't. People riding through on big noisy animals   
with lots of other big noisy animals looking to kill other animals noisily is   
very disturbing to people who don't kill anything, ever. Sometimes it's hard to   
see what's so much more preferrable about you lot, and you've no idea the amount   
of damage that a determined bunch of saboteurs can do in a very short time. Part   
of the Singers' frustration with Men, I'm sure, was spillover from having been   
pushed out by Noldor for so long. "Oh no, not more of them, from the other side   
of the world!" and so on. 

**Finduilas**:   
Surely you're exaggerating. --But you've changed the subject again. 

**Luthien**:   
I'm not and I haven't. Pay attention when people talk, sometime, you'd be surprised.   
They have a word for you, you know. "Swarn" -- it means someone who's so stubborn   
that it's just impossible to work with them. Finrod think's it's funny -- but true. 

**Finduilas**: [sighing]   
We were talking about -- about you and Beren, not about politics. 

**Luthien**:   
I thought earlier you were saying it was the same thing. I agree, I just don't   
see it as a bad thing. It wouldn't hurt Doriath to have his perspective and lore   
to add to our own, how could it? 

**Finduilas**:   
But are you being fair to him? Have you thought about it from his point of view? 

**Luthien**: [dangerous]   
--Explanation, if you don't mind? 

**Finduilas**: [voice of reason]   
How could he ever hope to have a normal life with you, even if your parents   
hadn't reacted so badly? Wouldn't it have been better -- from his standpoint   
-- to go to his own kind and find one of them for a mate? At least that way   
he could have had a home and a family and a place where he would have belonged,   
after all. Don't you think you're being rather selfish, even if he wouldn't   
ever say so? 

**Luthien**:   
No, actually not. I'm not so arrogant as to say that no one else could have   
healed him, or that he might not have been able to recover on his own, but after   
what happened to him in Dorthonion all those years, and then the Mountains of   
Terror on top of that, he was not well at all. Even a season in Neldoreth had   
only begun to diminish his stress levels, and you know how peaceful that area   
is -- 

[frowns] 

-- no, actually you might not, since you've never visited, but it is -- and he'd   
been isolated so long he could hardly talk. As you've so kindly pointed out, I   
haven't your family's experience of mortals, but I got the strong impression from   
Beren's stories that it isn't considered normal among Men to live year-round in the   
woods and on the heath in complete solitude, and that he wouldn't have fit back   
into their society at all. Though in Doriath, if he hadn't been human, no one would   
have blinked at it. 

**Finduilas**: [genteel shiver]   
I still don't understand how you could have dared to let him touch you that night. 

**Luthien**: [forced patience]   
Because I could tell he was Good the way I could tell Huan was Good even if   
I didn't know exactly what he was. 

**Finduilas**:   
But you couldn't know that-- 

**Luthien**:   
Well, yes, I did-- 

**Finduilas**:   
But you were taking such a risk--! 

**Luthien**: [giving up, flippant]   
No I wasn't, it's not as though anyone can catch me out in the open. 

**Finduilas**:   
Our cousins did. 

**Luthien**:   
That wasn't them, that was Huan. 

**Finduilas**: [shrugging]   
Well, anyway that's irrelevant. The crucial issue is that you're not the same as   
he is, and vice versa, and you never will be. It can't end happily. 

[silence] 

I'm right, aren't I? 

**Luthien**: [matter-of-factly]   
Nope. At least about us being different. That's the irrelevant part. I don't   
expect that things will be easy for us, or that we won't have unhappiness. And   
about endings -- I've seen far too many people die of grief -- though not lately,   
thanks to Mom -- either by fading or going out and getting killed with stupid risks,   
to think that anyone gets a happy ending. Not our Kindred, or his. --Haven't you? 

[Finduilas says nothing] 

And what you said before? That's not any different from my parents, either. My   
mother's not just immortal, she's an Immortal. Since as far as I can tell from her   
nobody knows what's going to happen when the world ends, and since you're so very   
sure that we're all just going to stop, and that's it, then they're in exactly the   
same position we are, by your standards. 

[pause] 

**Finduilas**:   
But -- they'll have thousands upon thousands of years together, just like everyone   
else. 

**Luthien**:   
So? That's just longer. It isn't different. 

**Finduilas**:   
Did you raise that point with her? 

**Luthien**:   
Of course. 

**Finduilas**:   
What did she say? 

**Luthien**: [bitter smile]   
What she always says, when you say something she doesn't like. Which is to   
say, nothing. 

[pause] 

**Finduilas**: [rallying & going on again]   
But really, it comes right back to one thing -- the fact that he's mortal.   
He isn't like us, and he never can be. Their fate is different, and it doesn't   
make sense to become so involved with someone who can't belong to Arda the way   
we do, and whom you shan't ever see again after such a short time. You're only   
setting yourself up for misery, can't you see?. 

[silence] 

**Luthien**: [slowly]   
So . . . from what you're saying, the logical conclusion would be . . . that   
the Trees weren't really valuable either, because they died. They shouldn't   
have been loved, either, then, isn't that so? 

**Finduilas**: [shocked]   
Luthien! How can you say such things? 

**Luthien**:   
What? It's true -- it does follow. 

**Finduilas**: [standing up in agitation]   
But that -- that's -- that's blasphemy! You can't talk about the Trees that way! 

**Luthien**:   
Why not? You're saying that Men aren't worth caring about because they don't   
live as long as we do. Well, everyone here has outlived the Trees, and if you're   
going to say it about one then you've got to say it about the other. You shouldn't   
have loved them so much in Aman, since they were mortal, too. 

**Finduilas**: [appalled, gesticulating]   
You -- you just equated him with the Two Trees! Luthien, you -- I'm not going   
to listen to any more of this, you're just too outrageous, -- though I suppose   
you can't help it because you never saw them. But -- it -- it's absurd, ludicrous,   
indecent -- you can't compare any mere person to the Trees, it's an insult to   
the Earthqueen to even think of it, let alone a human! 

[Finduilas is overcome with sputtering agitation, shaking her head and   
looking away at the ceiling. Luthien just waits until she settles down.] 

**Luthien**:   
Finduilas. You've met him. Look at me -- look me in the eyes, and tell me --   
that he isn't as much of a person as you or I. 

[silence] 

**Finduilas**: [stubbornly]   
It's still wrong. It just is. 

[pause] 

**Luthien**:   
Well, you don't have to approve. I'm not looking for that -- only help   
saving him. Which ought to be your top prior-- 

**Finduilas**: [over her]   
--You really don't care what anyone else thinks, do you? That's so arrogant! 

**Luthien**: [bemused]   
Arrogant? Arrogant is people deciding that they know better than me what's   
good for me. Arrogant is people telling me what they think I want to hear and   
going and doing something else altogether. Arrogant is -- telling me I'm going   
to be grateful for it somewhere down the road. 

**Finduilas**: [frowning a little]   
I really think you should have given Daeron more of a chance. 

**Luthien**: [shaking her head]   
I feel like I'm walking around in circles. Now that we're back here again, can   
we stop? I'm terribly tired and this isn't helping any. 

**Finduilas**: [instantly solicitous]   
Oh, of course! I'm so sorry. Can I get you anything before you go to bed?   
Something to drink? 

**Luthien**: [sighs]   
No, thank you, cousin. Just -- make sure you get me up as soon as your father's free. 

**Finduilas**:   
O--of course. 

[Finduilas leaves; Luthien stands still afterwards for several minutes before going   
over to shut the door. She pulls a pair of chairs out from the inlaid table in the   
middle of the solar to the fire, but then sits down in one of them, staring into   
the flames, instead of preparing for sleep. After a moment she sighs and leans back,   
looking up at the star-gilded ceiling.] 

**Luthien**: [whispering]   
I can't even convince Finduilas now . . . --We're doomed . . .   


* * *

**SCENE VI**

  
  


**Gower**:   
Half-mad or horn-mad, the lunatic believes him sober-sane,   
and in his ranting plots perceiveth not the shape of his own bane-- 

[The royal apartments -- Celegorm is rocking back in his chair, laughing, while   
Curufin walks up and down before the hearth, reading from a scroll in his hand] 

**Celegorm**:   
Oh, that's just too perfect! Oh, I wish I could see his face then -- let's   
have that last bit again -- 

**Curufin**:   
Right, then: 

[reads] 

"Since you haven't managed to hold onto your own daughter, it seems you're   
not fit to have care of her, and (just as with the rest of Middle-earth) the   
task of caretaking having fallen to us, we will undertake to defend her from   
the perils of the dubious lands we found her wandering unescorted in -- and do   
(no doubt) a far better job of it. After all, we could hardly do worse, seeing   
as you've been unable to maintain the security of your vaunted borders,   
against even a solitary Mortal. With all due regards -- this by me, Curufin   
Atarin Feanorion of the House of Finwe, for Celegorm Turcofin Feanorion of the   
House of Finwe, of the Dominion of Nargothrond. 

PS: No need to send a present, we're provided for just fine here, and we'd not   
care to deprive you of any of the little you've managed to" -- heh -- "hold on to.   
But we do expect a good dinner when we come to visit next -- Father-in-Law." 

**Celegorm**: [wipes eyes, gesturing]   
He's going to go completely critical -- absolute boilover and meltdown -- where   
do you come up with these things? 

**Curufin**:   
My favorite's the bit where it goes: "You really should be grateful to us,   
considering that we've taken care of the problem that you carelessly allowed to   
occur, and still more carelessly allowed to continue. Doubtless a little applied   
Noldorin ingenuity would have found a way around such an imprudent promise, but   
don't worry, your trespasser's out of the picture -- permanently -- and you've   
gained not one, but seven, sons-in-law (any one of whom far outranks the least   
of your subjects) so you've come out it well ahead all the same." 

**Celegorm**:   
Or, or, what about: "If you'd wanted a Silmaril, you should have talked to us first-- 

**Curufin**:   
Oh yes -- 

[reading] 

"--having seen your daughter's beauty and heard her voice, we would have rated   
her worthy of three, not one, and you could have joined our family and acquired a   
legitimate stake in them. But no harm done, despite your clumsy efforts to enlist   
our halfwit cousin (half-Teler, and no doubt a connection there) in your intrigue--   
obviously it's time for some fresh blood, fresh thought, fresh power in your House,   
wouldn't you agree?" 

**Celegorm**: [a little worried]   
You know . . . Maedhros is not going to be happy when he hears about this. About   
any of it, actually. 

**Curufin**:   
Well, to be perfectly honest, I don't really care what Maedhros will think about   
it. It won't be as though he can actually do anything about it. 

**Celegorm**: [more worried]   
You're not -- suggesting -- I mean, he is the head of our family--? 

[he gives Curufin an anxious look, hoping he's misunderstood] 

**Curufin**:   
I love our big brother dearly, but let's be completely frank here -- ever since   
he came back he's been, let us say, a few arrows short of a full quiver. I mean,   
giving up the Succession? Can one even do that? So while I respect and acknowledge   
him as yes, the head of our House, I don't feel obliged to consider his opinion and   
even his orders -- especially potential ones -- as automatically binding on me.   
--Or you. 

**Celegorm**: [relieved]   
Oh. --I agree. 

**Curufin**:   
Once it's a fait accompli, he'll be obliged to accept it, and that it's for the   
best -- the advantages to having Beleriand consolidated into a single powerful   
force under one coherent rule will be unarguable. It's the only way we'll ever get   
them back, after all. 

**Celegorm**:   
What about Fingon? A lot of people -- even ours -- do accept him as the High King,   
you know. 

**Curufin**:   
Well, considering as His Highness is high up in his mountains and can't really   
come out of them, he's made himself largely irrelevant for all practical purposes.   
A nominal High King doesn't bother me one way or the other, especially given the   
numbers. If he wants to try conclusions with us, let him -- I'll just point out   
to him that a two-front war with a Dark Lord on his back porch is a really,   
really bad idea. 

**Celegorm**:   
That's why I leave the plotting and planning to you. I get hung up on one detail   
or other and you have the gift for going around and making it all fit together   
properly. 

**Curufin**:   
Yes, we do make a good team, don't we? --So, any thoughts on who we should send   
with it? It'll have to be someone we can trust, people who won't talk out of turn,   
you might say -- but at the same time someone we won't miss too much if Elwe reacts   
as I suspect he might and tosses them in the lock-up. 

**Celegorm**: [frowning]   
That is a problem. Who can we spare for a couple-score years until we've finished   
consolidating here? 

**Curufin**:   
Too bad we can't send Huan -- I can't imagine even Old Shadows would dare to try   
to toss him into a cell! --Where is he, anyway? I haven't seen him about for a   
while now. 

**Celegorm**: [smugly]   
Ah, that's my plot. I've left him with Luthien, who's taken quite a fancy to him,   
thus winning me points in absentia as it were. 

**Curufin**:   
Really? I'd think he'd be the last one she'd want to see. She was terrified when   
we found her. 

**Celegorm**:   
Oh, you know, girls and nature and all -- sentimental, don't y'know? -- and he's   
so cute when he wants to be, just like when he was a puppy. 

**Curufin**:   
Doesn't he get bored? 

**Celegorm**:   
No -- he can never get enough attention, you know how it is with dogs. 

**Curufin**: [grinning]   
Ah. She has snacks for him. 

**Celegorm**: [grins back]   
That too. Oh, and it makes a handy excuse for coming by to chat with her when   
I collect him. 

**Curufin**:   
Well, I'm glad that's going well. Now we have to figure out how we're going to   
get this out without Orodreth noticing -- or any tattletales noticing for him. 

**Celegorm**:   
Oh, pfft -- him! 

**Curufin**: [resting his arm on the back of Celegorm's chair]   
It's just the kind of thing he would kick up a row about. And we don't want that.   
The critical thing is to minimize strife -- let our enemies fight multi-front wars,   
not us. 

[Celegorm nods slowly in agreement.] 

Now, I'm guessing it will take about a fortnight at a reasonable travel speed,   
allowing for at least one autumn storm in there, just to be safe. We can arrange   
with our chaps on the Borders to take care of provisions for the messengers,   
and avoid drawing attention from Household by taking supplies...   
[the camera pulls away from their plotting, fadeout] 

* * *

**SCENE VIII**

  
  
**Gower**:   
Like to the ghost that sitteth down at table, welcomeless,   
amid the feasting guilty, roameth Tinuviel in her distress. 

[The Great Solar. Luthien wanders through, appearing vague and distracted, looking   
around in rather a lost way. People stop talking briefly and look at her nervously,   
but do not approach her or speak to her. One woman in the robes of a Sage starts to   
get up and then sits down with her few companions in their alcove again. At the   
Carillon's court Celebrimbor is there doing something to the Chronometer; he watches   
Luthien's approach worriedly, but continues with his adjustments.] 

**Luthien**: [aloud to herself]   
Oh. 

[stopping in front of the fountain] 

That's what I was looking for. 

[She fills her hands and bathes her eyes -- it's clear she's been crying a lot.   
Afterwards she takes the cup and fills herself a drink, and then sits down on the   
edge of the fountain and starts pouring cupfuls of water back into the basin with   
a fascinated expression. In the distance the Sage gets up again, pushing aside the   
hand of one of her companions who tries to hold her back, and moves determinedly   
towards the Princess of Doriath, coming up behind her] 

**Sage**: [sharply]   
Your Highness -- 

[But before Luthien has a chance to respond she breaks and flees back into the angles   
of the cavern, disappearing behind a column.] 

**Luthien**: [puzzled frown]   
Yes--? 

[She looks around, but does not know who addressed her; after a moment she shrugs and   
goes back to playing absently with the water. Noticing something, she starts looking   
more closely at the ornate carvings and eventually gets up and kneels on the floor to   
see the base of the fountain better. When she doesn't get up Celebrimbor of all the   
people staring or trying not to do so obviously leaves off his work and goes over.] 

**Celebrimbor**: [hesitant but concerned]   
My lady? 

**Luthien**: [offhand]   
I've found another one. 

**Celebrimbor**:   
Another what, my lady? 

**Luthien**: [looking up at Celebrimbor, who kneels down next to her]   
Another serpent. See? He's right there, pretending to be a stem, but look, there's   
his eye, and there's his smile, behind that leaf. They're all smiling -- happy   
little serpents. I've found seven of them so far now. --Finrod made this, didn't he? 

[Celebrimbor nods] 

They're like Beren's ring. --It's such an odd device. Oh look, there's another one,   
eating a flower, or carrying it. What are they? They look like grass snakes a   
little, but the scales are different, they don't have those lines down them. 

**Celebrimbor**:   
I'm afraid I don't know what they're called here, my lady, I -- I think they only   
live in Valinor. "Green-eyed golden house-snakes" I suppose would be the closest   
translation. 

**Luthien**:   
Do they really eat flowers? 

[Celebrimbor nods] 

They're not -- that big, are they? Or are those supposed to be very small flowers?   
No -- there's one with a flag-iris, pulling it out of the water. Are they real? 

**Celebrimbor**:   
Indeed yes, my lady. 

**Luthien**:   
Oh, my. 

[pause] 

They still look sweet. Not like adders at all. --But surely they don't make things?   
How would they do it? I can see why, I suppose, it would be like making a fancy   
subtlety for them, but still I don't see how they could do it with just their mouths. 

[Celebrimbor looks at her rather anxiously] 

--Flowers. Wreaths. Making things with their food. --But they're serpents. 

[as he still looks blank, with a touch of impatience:] 

--On the emblem. 

**Celebrimbor**:   
Oh. For some reason they struck my great-uncle's fancy. I think there was a story   
about it, something funny-- 

[Luthien looks at him with mild interest, and he continues:] 

Oh, yes, now I remember. --Finarfin had made a garland for Earwen, when they were   
courting, and brought it to where she was working, but then he got distracted when   
he saw the project and set it down somewhere, and started, er, helping. Except then   
they got into a bit of a disagreement where the piece should go that she was carving,   
and he wanted to do something to bring out the grain of the wood and she wanted to   
leave it to weather, and they got rather cross about it, and he said something like   
"Don't let's fight -- I brought you flowers." 

**Luthien**: [puzzled]   
--But what does that have to do with finishing wood? 

[Celebrimbor gives her an odd look and laughs politely] 

**Celebrimbor**: [continuing]   
-- but then he couldn't find them, and she said he must have forgotten them, and   
it got a bit sharp again, -- and then they noticed that the pair of house-snakes   
had found them, somehow gotten the wreath off the bench, and were dragging it back   
to their hole. Except they weren't getting very far, because one of them wanted   
to stop and eat them right there, and the other was trying to keep going, and the   
string was slowing the first one down -- and Earwen started laughing and said,   
"Look! That's us!" So they decided to carve it for over the door, to remind them   
of . . . 

[pauses, then goes on with a hint of bitterness] 

. . . well, you know, need for cooperation and compromise and how silly they'd been   
and how easy it was to get caught up in one's own perspective without thought of   
anyone else having a valid point of view and so forth. And it just sort of stuck as   
a family joke, only after a few Great Years nobody even thought about it any more. 

[without changing his tone, quietly] 

--My lady, if you're troubled it would be better to speak to the healers and send   
for music rather than resorting to excess of wine for your spirits. 

**Luthien**: [affronted]   
I'm not tipsy. 

**Celebrimbor**: [regretful]   
Forgive my impertinence, but it's . . . apparent that you've had more in so short a   
time than your stamina will bear. 

**Luthien**:   
I'm not. I haven't touched wine at all today. 

**Celebrimbor**:   
Then what's wrong, my lady? 

**Luthien**: [astounded]   
Is that a serious question? 

[pause] 

**Celebrimbor**:   
I -- I meant anything most particular, right now. That -- I could help with. 

[Luthien sighs] 

**Luthien**:   
I don't think -- I've slept more than half a watch or so a night -- since   
Beren was captured. Sometimes not even that. And I haven't been let go outside   
since I came here, everyone says it's too dangerous. 

**Celebrimbor**:   
Well, there have been more wargs around this season than any time since the   
Fortress fell, so it isn't an exaggeration. 

**Luthien**: [shrugs]   
I didn't see anything. And my people believe it's unhealthy to spend too long   
indoors, and I have to say it certainly seems to be true. 

[splashes her hand in the water] 

Maybe I'll just camp out here. I could probably sleep here all right. The   
fountain sounds so nice, I could almost forget I wasn't outside. 

**Celebrimbor**:   
You're not serious--! 

[realizes she is serious] 

My lady, that's . . . not going to be possible. --You can't just, er, "camp out"   
in the Hall of Hours, as though it were a bivouac in the field! 

**Luthien**:   
Why not? Finrod wouldn't mind if he were here. He lived on our main staircase   
practically all of one visit, copying the friezes -- we just put up extra lights   
and some ropes so no one would trip on him or step on the scrolls if he wasn't   
there, and Lord Edrahil kept bringing him meals and taking the plates way and   
poking him to make sure he ate and checking that he hadn't accidently rinsed   
brushes in his drinking goblet, and we all got so used to it that for months   
after they'd all gone we still were only using the other side of the steps . . .   
I wouldn't even be in the way, over by the wall here. 

**Celebrimbor**:   
That's -- true . . . but . . . His Majesty isn't here and . . . that just isn't   
done, Your Highness. 

**Luthien**: [uneven smile]   
If I do it then it will be, won't it? 

**Celebrimbor**: [dismayed]   
It's . . . beneath your dignity, to sleep on the floor, my lady. 

**Luthien**:   
No, it isn't. 

[pause] 

The other option would be to bring the fountain to my room. Which would be less   
convenient and not very considerate of everyone else. Though I'm sure my cousin   
would give me it if I asked as well. --If he were here. 

**Celebrimbor**:   
Does it have to be this fountain, or would another do? I could probably make or   
find a smaller one, if you would like . . . 

**Luthien**: [shrugging]   
It's the pitch of it. Some fountains just sound hollow, others annoyingly busy.   
This one is properly musical. --That's how I knew it was Finrod's work before I saw   
the snakes on it, because of the tone. He retuned all the fountains at Menegroth,   
which was nice of him, even though it rather annoyed my parents that he started the   
project without asking. I didn't realize how much of a difference it could make --   
did you even realize that, that water could be tuned like a drum? 

**Celebrimbor**: [regretful]   
Yes, I know. We -- discussed it, a few times. 

**Luthien**: [frowning, as if realizing something]   
You're Lord Curufin's son. 

**Celebrimbor**:   
Yes. 

[He looks like he would say something else, sarcastic, but doesn't] 

**Luthien**:   
Your uncle said I should speak to him about getting my cape back from the Sages   
but I haven't been able to track him down. 

**Celebrimbor**:   
He . . . can be a difficult person to talk to. 

**Luthien**: [earnest]   
Will you try to get hold of him for me, tell him I need to speak to him, that   
I need my cloak back, or at least to know when they'll be done with it? I'm   
getting worried about it, and I don't want to be rude or seem ungrateful, but   
I can't find anyone who claims to know where it is, except your father secondhand   
through Lord Celegorm. 

**Celebrimbor**:   
I'm -- I'm afraid I don't have any control over his doings or goings, Your   
Highness, which are -- many. 

**Luthien**: [forcefully]   
I understand these things. Believe me, I do understand about the troubles of   
rulers, and the business of running realms, and the responsibilities of lords.   
--Talk to him for me when next you see him. That's all I ask. 

[long silence] 

**Celebrimbor**:   
I -- I will, my lady. 

[pause] 

Was there anything else you wanted here? Anything you need that isn't being   
provided for you? 

[Luthien stares at him for a moment] 

**Luthien**:   
No. Huan wanted to come up here. I think it's up. 

**Celebrimbor**: [looks around]   
Huan? 

**Luthien**:   
He's not here right now. He went off somewhere while I was getting supplies. 

**Celebrimbor**: [baffled]   
--Supplies? 

**Luthien**: [a bit frustrated, repeating with emphasis]   
Yes, supplies. See? 

[she unknots a corner of her mantle and shows him a handful of dried fruit and pastries] 

**Celebrimbor**:   
But . . . won't the household bring you whatever you ring for? 

**Luthien**:   
Yes, but you never pass up the chance to grab something when you can. --Beren taught   
me that, though I never expected to have to use the knowledge. I can't walk past   
a hazelnut thicket now without checking, or a tangle of berry canes, or a birds'nest,   
in case there's something I can scavenge. 

**Celebrimbor**: [faintly]   
You don't need to, now, my lady, you're safe and -- and provided-for, here. 

**Luthien**: [shrugging]   
It gets to be a habit. 

[sighs] 

I wish I had the canteen I made out of reeds, it was such a nice compact one,   
but I dropped it when I was treed by Huan and forgot to pick it up. 

**Celebrimbor**:   
--Reeds . . . ? 

[realizes too late to stop himself how annoying this is getting] 

**Luthien**: [very slowly]   
The hollow things that grow in swampy depressions and along riverbanks. --And   
resin. The stuff that comes out of pine trees. It's very sticky. It makes the   
water taste odd but it keeps it in. --Did you not speak Sindarin much in Aglon? 

[Celebrimbor blinks, doesn't answer; after a moment she bites her lip] 

Um. That was really rude of me. I'm sorry. I'm just -- so horribly tired. 

[she fights successfully to keep from breaking down.] 

**Celebrimbor**: [gently]   
Shall I escort you to your suite, Your Highness? 

**Luthien**:   
No, I should probably wait for Huan. He might get worried if he came back and   
couldn't find me. I'll just stay here. 

**Celebrimbor**: [still troubled]   
Very well, my lady. 

[He returns to working on his clock, and Luthien watches him for a moment before   
putting her head down on her knees. Curufin enters, obviously looking for his son,   
and stalks over to where Celebrimbor is taking something apart.] 

**Curufin**: [quietly enough not to make a public scene, but not pleasantly]   
Are you still wasting your time with that toy? Shouldn't you move on to something   
else? Or are you going to compulsively tinker with it for the next Great Year, too? 

[Instead of answering, Celebrimbor nods over in the direction of the fountain. Curufin   
following his look sees Luthien asleep next to it and frowns, not expecting or pleased   
by this.] 

**Celebrimbor**: [quietly]   
She's been looking for you to talk to you, Father. Do you wish to wake Her Highness? 

[Grimacing, Curufin turns quickly and strides off. Celebrimbor looks first relieved,   
then disgusted with himself at his stratagem. In the background Huan makes his way   
through the Hall of Hours, sniffing the air, and heads towards them. When he gets to   
where Luthien is sitting he stands in front of her, patient-dog-mode, huffing on her   
feet until she notices he's there and grabs his ruff to pull herself up. Trailing shreds   
behind her, she walks with a handful of his fur, as if they were arm-in-arm, and they   
go out without stopping or speaking to anyone else. A visible relief on the expressions   
of the crowd, save for Celebrimbor, who keeps working with a bitter & self-mocking smile.] 

* * *

**SCENE IX**

  
  
**Gower**:   
--Slipped in thus stealthily, poison to the mind   
most subtle, lingering, and potent one shall find-- 

[The apartments of Lord Guilin's House -- the style here is very high Noldor, even   
more so than in Orodreth's suite: more geometric and abstract, though still with   
natural and organic themes (more early Dynastic and Assyrian, less Amarna). There   
is a lot of glass in the ornamentation, both blown and cut, both functional and used   
for atmospheric effect of light and color. Finduilas and Gwindor are having an   
animated conversation in the main hallway.] 

**Gwindor**: [arms folded, very abrupt]   
I can't believe you're going on with this. It's completely inappropriate. 

**Finduilas**: [exasperated and pleading]   
It's been planned for months, Gwin. It would be far more awkward if we canceled   
it now. 

**Gwindor**:   
It's still inappropriate. 

**Finduilas**:   
We talked about it before -- if you were going to object you should have said   
something sooner. 

**Gwindor**:   
If you will recall, Finduilas, -- I did. 

**Finduilas**:   
Yes, but then you stopped. 

**Gwindor**:   
Because you clearly had no intention of listening to anything I had to say. 

**Finduilas**:   
Well, I'm sorry. But it's too late, to change it, now. 

**Gwindor**:   
It's never too late. 

**Finduilas**:   
Gwin, your father isn't going to cancel. Would you just -- oh, honestly--! 

[she breaks off, shaking her head, turns away and folds her own arms. Brief pause.] 

**Gwindor**:   
Well, perhaps I won't be here. 

[Finduilas whirls] 

**Finduilas**: [outraged]   
Milord, are you trying to be funny? Because you're failing dismally. 

**Gwindor**: [just as haughty]   
I wasn't jesting, your Highness. If you insist on holding celebrations with your   
snobby Eastern friends, you can just count me out. 

**Finduilas**:   
Gwin! They're your friends too. 

**Gwindor**:   
Not any longer. 

**Finduilas**:   
You're not serious, are you? Do you know how humiliating that would be, for you   
not to be here? You don't mean it really. 

**Gwindor**:   
I mean it. If you refuse to use your wits and your sensibilities and mindlessly   
accept things as they are, it's my duty then to think for both of us. 

**Finduilas**:   
How dare you! 

**Gwindor**: [offhand]   
Someone's got to -- it might as well be me. 

[not so snottily] 

Please try to look at things rationally-- 

**Finduilas**:   
Do not try to slip out of this after those words, milord Guilinion! I will   
not put up with such arrogant, insulting, rude behavior without an apology! 

**Gwindor**: [exasperated]   
Faelivrin-- 

**Finduilas**: [raising her voice still more]   
Don't you dare call me that right now! 

[Enter Lord Guilin] 

**Guilin**:   
--Children, what's the matter? You're disturbing the whole household with your arguing. 

**Finduilas**: [holding out her hands]   
Sir, your son is being impossible. Again. 

**Guilin**: [sighing]   
Gwin, why must you take out your ill-humor upon your lady? Isn't there enough sorrow   
these days? 

[Gwindor rolls his eyes] 

Finduilas, dear, what is this trouble over? 

**Finduilas**:   
He's being hateful about the Gathering tonight. Calling me insensitive and frivolous,   
as if doing nothing instead would help-- 

**Guilin**: [reproachfully]   
I'd hoped you were going to be mature about this, Gwin. I -- if you're going to attack   
anyone, attack me. Not the Princess. After all, I'm the one who made the decision; I   
should bear your scorn, not she. 

**Gwindor**: [fiercely]   
Father, if you cared so much for my good opinion, then why haven't you taken it into   
consideration before making decisions? Keeping me sheltered like so much glass isn't   
going to bring back Gelmir. --Or the King. 

**Finduilas**:   
Gwin! How can you be so cruel? 

[Gwindor stands still, his expression angry and pained, and suddenly slams his fist   
against the panelling. One of the elaborate sculptures on the wall separates from its   
mount and drops onto the stone floor, shattering. Finduilas covers her ears instinctively,   
cringing, waiting for the breakage, and bursts into silent tears. Gwindor looks appalled   
and ashamed.] 

**Guilin**: [sadly]   
Son. --Did that aid anything? 

**Gwindor**:   
Faelivrin, I'm sorry-- 

**Finduilas**: [sniffling]   
It doesn't matter, I'll make another one. 

[Gwindor goes over to her and puts his arms around her.] 

**Gwindor**: [whispering]   
I'm so sorry, I lost my temper, I-- 

[she shakes her head] 

I'll be here tonight. I promise. I won't say anything. --I'm sorry. 

**Finduilas**:   
It's all right. 

[The Carillon sounds -- she starts.] 

Oh! I've got to meet my father for dinner. I need to go change and see about a   
lot of things first. 

[wipes her eyes] 

Please excuse me, Lord Guilin. 

**Guilin**:   
Not at all, my dear. Please give him my regards. --Are you quite yourself again? 

**Finduilas**: [bright smile]   
I will. Yes, I'm fine, thank you. 

[she gives Gwindor a quick kiss and goes off briskly. Her fiancee does not look away   
from his father's recriminating expression, but after Lord Guilin leaves he sighs and   
carefully begins picking up the broken pieces of blown glass.] 

* * *

**SCENE X**

  
  
**Gower**:   
The lessons of an idle hour's gaming may be well-learned,   
by fairest maid no less than him whose scars hard-earned   
befell in fight more worthy than when ship and city burned-- 

[Luthien is sitting by the hearth with Huan, both of them watching the flames, him   
behind her rather like a sphinx with his head over/on her shoulder, (the way horses   
like to.) Celegorm, shown in by an attendant, looks around the solar for a moment   
before seeing them on the floor and is surprised. He has an ornate & longish box   
under his arm.] 

**Celegorm**: [hesitantly]   
Er, hullo, I was just looking for Huan -- I see he's there with you still . . . 

**Luthien**: [looking around]   
Yes, he's a little hard to miss. 

[She gets up and comes around the Hound and greets Celegorm with a polite nod as to   
an equal; he takes her hand and bows over it with just short of exaggeration. She does   
not look quite so drugged and haggard as before.] 

**Celegorm**:   
Well, how's my little pup doing? Behaving himself? 

[Huan stretches and whines, wriggling, conveying I'm-a-good-dog-but-I-don't-want-to-move] 

**Luthien**: [wistfully]   
Oh, yes. Do you have to take him away so soon? 

**Celegorm**:   
No, not at all. In fact, -- I was thinking you might like to play a few rounds   
of chess to divert yourself, so I brought a set and a board along . . ? 

[looks at her with an expression of mild hopefullness] 

**Luthien**:   
There's already one in this room, 

[remembering manners] 

--but that's kind of you. --Oh-- 

[her eyes light up] 

-- wait! with two we could play mortal chess. 

**Celegorm**:   
Mortal chess? 

**Luthien**:   
Yes, Beren taught me how to play it. It's very interesting. I'll teach you, if   
you like. I find our version rather dull now, to tell the truth. 

[she takes the box and carries it over to the table, grabbing the other set off   
a sideboard as she goes] 

**Celegorm**: [lightly]   
Hm. Wouldn't have guessed he could fit a set in that little kit of his. Or was   
it yours? 

**Luthien**: [serious]   
Oh no. You can play it with rocks and acorns, or bits of stick with the bark   
peeled off some of them. All you need is two colors and one bigger than the rest,   
to be the king-stone. And some flat ground and a twig or a flat rock and charcoal   
to draw the lines. 

[she takes out all the pawns, leaving the rest of the figured pieces in the case.] 

Now if you'll give me the other set-- 

[she takes out the red pawns only from this set and sets the pieces up tafl-style --   
the red pawns go in clusters at the centers of the four sides, the white pawns go in   
the middle of the board, and in the center of them one white king.] 

**Celegorm**:   
Where do the rest of 'em go? 

**Luthien**:   
That's it. Now we play. 

**Celegorm**:   
You're joking! 

[Huan comes over and sits down between them, leaning his head over the table to   
watch the game curiously] 

**Luthien**:   
No. 

**Celegorm**:   
But you can't win this. Or -- that is, only red can win, all the time. The unlucky   
soul playing center certainly can't. 

**Luthien**:   
Oh, you can -- it's just very hard. That's why I find it so much more mentally   
stimulating than ours, with everything all equal and balanced to start with. Very   
symmetrical, not very realistic. --Unless you could somehow bring out secret ones   
all of the sudden. 

[he is looking at her rather oddly] 

Just like in the Leaguer. This isn't realistic really, having everyone know what   
forces are on each side, since we're all trying to hide ours from the Enemy and he   
from us, and trick each other into mistaking what's what. --But at least this is   
more like what really happened. --And you can win it, which I think is a hopeful sign. 

**Celegorm**:   
Even outnumbered. And surrounded. 

**Luthien**:   
Yes. As long as you don't lose your leader. The trick is to keep moving and get free. 

**Celegorm**: [rubbing his lips pensively]   
How do you take pieces, if they all move the same way? 

**Luthien**:   
Any warrior trapped between two enemies is down. And you only move in straight   
lines, ahead, back, or either side. I go first -- see, like that. Now you go. 

[They go through the next few moves carefully] 

**Celegorm**:   
Oh, you made a mistake, you just went two squares with him. 

**Luthien**:   
No, that's right: you can go as far as you think safe. Generally you don't want   
to get out ahead of the line, though. Realism again. 

**Celegorm**:   
Hey, wait, your chap's down -- he just went between two of my pieces. 

**Luthien**:   
No, you can dash between two enemies already there. 

**Celegorm**: [wry]   
Now you tell me. 

**Luthien**:   
Sorry. It's just if you're engaged with one and someone else comes up behind you,   
then you go down. I believe that's an accurate reflection of how it works in real   
life, reduced to essentials, isn't it? 

**Celegorm**: [heartfelt]   
This is a weird game. 

[moves] 

**Luthien**:   
--Path! 

**Celegorm**:   
Eh? What's that? 

**Luthien**:   
I have to warn you -- I have a clear path for escape there. --That's another way   
games differ from real life. 

**Celegorm**:   
So . . . if I move this warrior here, your king is blocked, and you don't have an   
out any more. 

**Luthien**:   
Right. But he won't last very long, because I'm coming up alongside of him here,   
and now -- he's down. 

**Celegorm**:   
But -- hmm. 

[he scowls at the board, a bit chagrinned] 

**Luthien**:   
That's all right, I lost all the time at first, too. No matter what side I was   
playing. It took a few bouts before I got the hang of it. 

**Celegorm**: [indulgently]   
Oh, you mean before he let you have a win. 

**Luthien**: [sharply]   
Beren didn't let me win. 

**Celegorm**: [nodding in patronizing fashion as he moves]   
Right, right. 

**Luthien**: [snapping her piece down]   
He didn't. --He wouldn't dare, I'd know. 

**Celegorm**:   
You really think I'm going to believe this can be won by the defending side? 

**Luthien**:   
When you see it. 

[Celegorm moves, and she moves instantly, taking two of his pieces] 

**Celegorm**:   
You can't do that! 

**Luthien**:   
Both of them were flanked. It's just like draughts: as many as are in range. 

[he frowns, moves again, and she counters again] 

--Field! 

**Celegorm**:   
What's that mean? 

**Luthien**:   
It means I win. See? 

[points] 

Even if you could block this side, you can't get your troops over to the other side   
fast enough to stop me from breaking through here. 

**Celegorm**:   
I'll be damned. You did win. --Are you sure you didn't cheat? 

[Luthien looks indignant -- his expression and tone change completely to sincerest   
gallantry] 

Oh, what am I saying? Of course you wouldn't cheat, you're a lady and far too fair   
and honorable for that. You've bested me in fair fight. 

**Luthien**:   
I've had far more practice at it. Here, I'll set up again and you'll know what to   
do now. 

[she starts rearranging the pieces; after a moment Celegorm catches her first words   
and gives her a wary look 

**Celegorm**: [aside]   
--Did she really say what I thought she said? . . . surely not . . . 

[aloud, staring hard at the board] 

Of course, you realize it's really ironic, dont'ya know, when winning consists   
of turning tail and running for dear life! You can tell no Noldor mind came   
up with this game-- 

[he chuckles, but stops at her look and settles down] 

--All right, so I want to prevent you from bracketing my pieces, or they'll all   
be picked off and flattened . . . 

[suddenly stunned with realization] 

--Wait, I know this -- it's a confounded sandastan! 

[grinning] 

Hah -- my lady, you won't draw me into this hedge so easily again. Your move,   
I believe, Your Highness? 

[intensely they go through the next series of moves in silence.] 

Well. I think -- I've won. Your warriors can't get out out of that quadrant,   
can they? And your king can't get to the edge with my men there, right? So   
either you surrender now, or, you come out and get cut down one by one. Hm? 

**Luthien**: [nodding]   
Very impressive, my lord. 

**Celegorm**: [smiling into her eyes]   
I'm a fast learner. 

**Luthien**: [not looking away]   
But -- if this were real life, that might not be the end of it. 

[She reaches into a box, takes out the rest of white pawns and sets them in a   
wedge at the opposite corner. Definitely--] 

--Keep playing. 

**Celegorm**:   
Hey! You can't do that! --Can you? 

**Luthien**:   
I just did. It's called -- the Serech Variation. Your move. 

[Silence. Huan whines. Celegorm swallows hard, and breaks from her glance to consider   
the board. After a moment, he makes an uncertain jerky slide, and she moves at once   
to counter. He gets back to business, and keeps pulling pieces away from her encircled   
king to throw them in front of her attack, but she just keeps moving, without stopping   
to consider the next move.] 

Path. --And field. 

[Celegorm stares at the board dismayed, and then looks up at her.] 

**Celegorm**:   
But you lost just about all of your forces to do it. 

**Luthien**: [coolly]   
And that, too, is more like real life -- isn't it? 

[Celegorm doesn't say anything, although he tries. She reaches around the board and   
catches both of his hands in her own, staring intensely at him] 

--You know what we have to do. You know how to do it. You've told me how it should   
be done. You've told me how Finrod befriended you and took you in and supplied your   
material losses out of his own stores without asking for any return or putting you   
"in your place" over it ever since the Sudden Flame -- and you told me I could   
depend on you. I am depending on you. --We are. Celegorm Turcofin Feanorion, will   
you redeem your pledge to me and your debt to the King and avenge your father all   
in one? --Which may perhaps even help effect a reconciliation not merely between my   
family and myself, but between our Houses as well, if only you but throw off this   
mirk that clouds all our minds and press forward without further delay! 

[Celegorm stares at her, entranced, visibly torn, struggling to speak] 

**Celegorm**:   
I -- 

[his expression changes from receptive to baffled] 

--would, -- but-- 

[he shakes his head sadly] 

--it isn't entirely in my control -- 

[meaningful tone] 

not as though I were Regent, after all-- 

[Luthien lets go of his hands, flattens hers on the table and stands up from her chair] 

**Luthien**: [ominously]   
Are you saying Orodreth is a traitor? That he's delaying on purpose--!? 

[Celegorm is intimidated in spite of himself by her expression and backs down] 

**Celegorm**:   
I -- I didn't mean to imply that, my lady, only, only, -- only that he -- well,   
it's difficult to say, being friends for many years, but -- he -- he isn't --   
well, you know, about the Fortress and all . . . 

**Luthien**:   
Know what? 

**Celegorm**:   
I really . . . shouldn't say . . . 

**Luthien**:   
You've said already -- too much, or too little, my lord. 

**Celegorm**: [sighing]   
He's got no nerve left for fighting. It seemed to happen with the onset of Sauron   
-- who as you might know is a spirit of no ordinary power and ability -- but I'm   
convinced it really all started with the Bragollach -- 

[sp reading his hands regretfully] 

not that I can blame him, certainly, not like he's the only Elf to be undone by   
that disaster -- but giving up the Fortress without a fight, running back here   
without even a retreatin' action -- there's a reason why he's never held command   
or even taken the field since then. 

**Luthien**:   
But he is not the only warrior -- soldier or officer -- in Nargothrond! 

**Celegorm**: [more confidently]   
But he's in charge. He's the one who sets the tone, you know, that a command takes   
its lead from the commander, and so on. Without the will bein' there at the top,   
the bottom ranks can't have it either. Morale and whatnot, doncha know. 

**Luthien**: [shaking her head, bewildered]   
But -- but that doesn't make any sense -- if he can't handle the responsibility   
of ruling, then it would make sense to do everything possible to get the one who   
can back safely-- 

**Celegorm**:   
True -- but, you know -- people don't always behave rationally, what? 

[rising] 

Oh -- Lady Luthien -- you won't mention to him that I told you about this, will   
you? He's very -- sensitive, about the rout -- understandable, of course. 

[he takes her hand and bows over it] 

**Luthien**:   
Are you going so soon? 

**Celegorm**: [awkwardly]   
I -- I must. 

[sudden inspiration] 

You asked me to see what I could do. 

**Luthien**: [taken aback, uncertainly]   
Oh. Oh, good. Thank you. --May Huan stay a while longer? If you please, my lord? 

**Celegorm**: [smiles]   
Of course, my lady. 

[He bows again and leaves, still a bit shaken, though covering it well] 

**Luthien**: [beyond upset]   
--Oh! 

[leans on the table, her head hanging down] 

Did I actually accomplish anything? --I don't know-- 

[Listlessly she starts putting the remaining chessmen away -- then struck by a sudden   
inspiration she picks up one of the white castles and turns it around in her fingers] 

**Luthien**: [thoughtful]   
So cousin Orodreth was there . . . I'd not realized that. For years. That means   
he knows the area well -- and the Fortress. 

[A look of focussed determination comes over her face. She puts the piece away,   
tosses the end of her mantle over her shoulder like a cape and folds her arms squarely.] 

I need to talk to him. About everything. And the way to reach him is Finduilas   
-- I'm afraid I've got to catch her and not let go, even if I lose what's left   
of my mind as a result. --Oh well-- 

[looks at Huan; without irony:] 

--Could I trouble you to find her for me, milord? 

[Huan gets up, wagging his tail slowly, not unwilling, but not enthusiastic, and he   
sounds rather troubled when he replies:] 

**Huan**:   
[short bark] 

**Luthien**:   
You don't have to stay while we talk, unless you want to. 

[Huan comes over to have his ears scratched before going out on his mission; Luthien   
goes over to a "window" and perches on the frame as if it was a real windowsill.] 

**Luthien**: [musing]   
--He didn't even notice that I let him win the second time . . . it's worse than   
I realized! But I don't know what to do, except talk -- if it's being underground,   
really, I've got no hope -- but if it's being cut off from the sky, you'd think   
it would be the same at home -- hah, perhaps it is! -- but no, nobody stays all   
the time in the Thousand Caves. Or perhaps it's also the fact that Mom's there,   
and her presence counteracts the lack of stars. And then -- that could explain,   
actually -- with Finrod gone there's no one here who's strong enough to make up   
for the absence . . . 

[traces the joins along the edges of the carved trees with her finger] 

I wish Galadriel were here -- she wouldn't allow such a muddle and nightmare to   
go on. She'd know what to do, and do it. But instead -- we've just got me . . . 

[she sighs heavily and leans back on the frame, closing her eyes] 

* * *

**SCENE XI**

**Gower**:   
A broken faith less easy to repair when riven,   
one finds; yet may the pieces, severally, be truly given-- 

[The royal apartments. Celebrimbor enters from one of the farther chambers with a   
small chest and sets it down on the table, where there are a number of pieces of   
carved marble and bronze piping. Taking a piece of cloth from the chest he starts   
wrapping up the disassembled fountain and packing it in the box. One small basin he   
picks up, and blows across it like a flute, with a distant look. Behind him Curufin   
comes in, and he is all business again.] 

**Curufin**:   
So first you sneer at me, and then you go and help yourself to our lamented   
kinsman's belongings. --I do admire your mental flexibility, son. 

**Celebrimbor**: [not looking at him, going on packing]   
I helped with this project. There's a difference -- subtle, but I should think   
you'd appreciate subtlety . . . Father. 

**Curufin**:   
You watch that disrespectful mouth, boy, unless you wish to fend for yourself in   
the Wilds. I could arrange for you to stand a season on the remote watches, you   
know. How much fiddling about, I wonder, could you manage out on patrol or in   
a roundhouse? I doubt you'd get such a dose of fawning appreciation from your   
comrades as you do around here. 

[Celebrimbor flushes but doesn't say anything else.] 

What are you thinking? 

[his son grimaces, but still doesn't answer] 

I asked you a direct question. Your continued silence is insolence. --What are   
you thinking there, Celebrimbor? 

**Celebrimbor**: [looking at him defiantly]   
That -- as usual -- our mothers were wiser than ourselves. 

[it is Curufin's turn to flush] 

**Curufin**: [biting off each word]   
I don't expect you to understand my motives, nor consequently to appreciate them   
-- but you could at least try to make an effort -- particularly when it's for   
your benefit-- 

[Celebrimbor's expression hardens -- before things escalate further, Celegorm enters.   
To Celebrimbor:] 

**Celegorm**:   
Get out, I want to talk to your father. 

**Celebrimbor**:   
Presently -- I'm almost done. 

**Celegorm**:   
Now. 

[He comes over and starts to grab a component and toss it in: Celebrimbor seizes   
the valve back from him and leans defensively over the table, blocking him.] 

**Celebrimbor**:   
Don't touch any of this! 

**Celegorm**:   
Snap at me and I'll muzzle you. --Punk. 

[Glaring, Celebrimbor quickly but carefully puts the remaining pieces inside and closes   
the lid. As he picks up the chest to go--] 

**Curufin**:   
Where are you taking that lot? 

**Celebrimbor**:   
To Her Highness of Doriath. She misses the sound of water. I offered to help. 

[as he is almost out the door] 

--I do follow through, when I make promises. 

[The Sons of Feanor give the grandson of Feanor a dirty parting Look] 

**Curufin**:   
What's going on? 

[Celegorm wanders around the chamber for a minute, not answering right away, leaning   
on furniture and tapping on mantlepieces.] 

Well? Out with it! 

**Celegorm**:   
I just had a . . . very troubling encounter with Her Highness. 

**Curufin**:   
Sparkly? Or the other one? 

**Celegorm**:   
Her Highness of Doriath, nitwit. Finduilas just looks down her dainty nose at me,   
and I just smile at her, and she just goes off in a huff. She's no trouble. 

**Curufin**:   
What sort of trouble are we talking about, here? 

**Celegorm**:   
She was putting some kind of trance on me, something that made me start to forget   
all about our priorities and all. I've never felt anything like it. 

[he looks at Curufin with desperate hopefulness, waiting for explanation and reassurance] 

**Curufin**:   
Was she singing? 

**Celegorm**:   
No. Not even humming. 

[pause] 

She just looked into my eyes, and I wanted to tell her everything and grovel on   
the rug and beg her pardon. Five minutes longer and I'd have been arming up to   
head out, I swear! 

[Curufin looks alarmed and angry] 

Oh, and she did invoke my full name. 

**Curufin**: [thoughtfully]   
Well, naming is the second oldest form of power there is, after song -- though to   
hear our cousin go on about it they're the same thing. But if you were able to walk   
away from it without any difficulty I wouldn't worry about it. She isn't that strong,   
it can't have taken that much power to overwhelm a couple of Dark-elven sentries,   
probably already sharing a wineskin and careless with overconfidence. Concentrate   
on impressing her -- though I'd recommend not looking at her eyes. 

[Celegorm sighs regretfully] 

**Celegorm**:   
Most prudent thing, I guess. Oh well. Besides, as long as I'm paying attention it   
isn't like she can get anything past my guard. Right? 

**Curufin**:   
I'd think not. 

**Celegorm**: [smugly]   
You'd be proud of me -- I managed to make Orodreth take the fall, and at the same   
time appealed to her delicate sensibilities not to bring it up to him. The way   
he's hiding from her, there's no chance she'll get the chance to, anyhow. Well,   
thanks for taking a load off my mind! --I think I'll go bother our good Regent for   
a bit, now that I think of it. He can give me some pointers on how to achieve   
rapport with Sindarin Elves, eh? Being related to 'em and all. 

**Curufin**:   
Just don't give the plan away to him by accident. He may be unimaginitive, but he   
isn't a complete fool. 

**Celegorm**:   
Don't worry, I won't breathe a word. I was thinking I'd make it seem like I'm   
worried about her health, her state of mind and all. I mean, obviously she's not   
quite normal, what? 

**Curufin**: [smiling dryly]   
The "Mad Princess of Doriath." Obviously she needs the best care we can give her.   
--I like it. 

[they share a complicit grin] 

Well, much as I'd never admit it before him that I've overlooked anything,   
'Brim's reminded me there are all sorts of storage areas and work facilities   
about here that I've not investigated. So that should keep me busy for quite a   
while. Good luck on your, er, fishing expedition . . . 

[Celegorm claps him on the shoulder and goes out cheerfully; Curufin begins opening   
cabinets fitted into the marquetry and panelling of the apartments]   


* * *

**SCENE XII**

**Gower**:   
No hits so palpable, so lasting keen, shall e'er be felt   
as they that strike hearts where once friendship dwelt-- 

[Orodreth's office. Boxes of scrolls and bound ledgers are lined up along the walls   
and next to his desk, and stacks of them and loose sheets of parchment cover the top   
of it. He is holding a page in his hand as though reading it but not looking at it.   
The door opens suddenly: he looks up, startled, then angry, as Celegorm strolls in.] 

**Orodreth**: [biting]   
It is customary to knock, even if one is too busy and overwhelmed to manage to   
schedule an appointment, you know. 

**Celegorm**:   
Oh, come off your high horse, cousin, I've seen you silly with wine too many   
times to take you seriously-- 

[Orodreth continues to look around past him] 

What? 

**Orodreth**:   
Where's your shadow? Or did he finally figure out how to make her invisibility   
cloak work? 

**Celegorm**:   
Ha ha. Cur's busy. 

**Orodreth**: [setting down the paper and shaking his head]   
That's a change. 

**Celegorm**:   
You could at least be civil, you know. 

**Orodreth**: [sighs]   
I could, I suppose. --What can I help you with, my lord? How may the Regent's   
office be of service to the House of Feanor today? 

[Celegorm grimaces but forges on] 

**Celegorm**:   
You've been to Doriath; I haven't. --Don't say "Obviously" or anything like that.   
Just -- answer the question, all right? 

[Orodreth says nothing] 

What's it like there? Is she typical? All this independence and do-it-yourself   
and not seeming to notice the -- the -- grandeur of everything or the honor that's   
rendered her? I mean, it's almost like she's some kind of wild creature that doesn't   
recognize the work of people as being any different from trees! 

**Orodreth**: [drumming his fingers on the desk]   
Typical? No. I would not say that. Not even before. But yes, Doriath is a very   
different place from anything our people have ever built. It has to be. There   
are so many different ethnic groups living there, with separate traditions and   
their own historical soveriegnties, and they mix them all up and swap them around,   
which makes it even more confusing to someone from Aman. 

**Celegorm**:   
What do you mean, "swap 'em around" --? How do you do that? 

**Orodreth**:   
Oh, Teler using Sindarin names, Singers borrowing Telerin musical instruments,   
Sindar copying Laiquendi pottery designs on leatherwork, and everyone trading   
songs back and forth. 

**Celegorm**:   
But -- "sovereignties" --! That can't be what you meant. 

**Orodreth**: [shrugs]   
Then I must have imagined the time that Angrod was arranging a fishing trip down   
to the Confluences and Elu told him to check with our great-aunt about whose it   
was then, as the local tribes had been exchanging it for stories and they'd had   
a Singing recently, and he wasn't sure who would have to grant us permission to   
take fish from the waters. 

**Celegorm**:   
What, they gave it away for a song? You're joking! 

[Orodreth shakes his head; Celegorm snorts in disgust] 

Daft! 

**Orodreth**:   
And of course there is the fact that the boundaries of Doriath proper are   
impenetrable, so that there is no need for the kind of careful watching and   
intensive security and secrecy that the rest of us must maintain outside. 

[leans back in his chair] 

After all, if no one can get inside, you don't need to worry about the presence   
of Enemy agents or invaders, and after a few Great Years of that I don't think   
anyone from Menegroth would even understand the basis for our policies and rules.   
It may be the model for this City, but it runs on a logic all of its own. 

**Celegorm**:   
Is logic even the right word for it, eh? 

**Orodreth**:   
Well, if there's no chance of invaders getting near your gates, what do you need   
to have people on them all the time for? The doors just stand open all the time,   
and you haven't wasted anyone's time that could be better spent on creative pursuits.   
And with all the preexisting cultures and lines of authority that converge there,   
there's little of what we would call formality -- does a Sindarin Lord outrank an   
Elder of the Following of Denethor? When a craftswoman of the local village recalls   
the Second Kindling and a war orphan with no name from father or mother is one   
of the foremost warriors of the land -- then best offer the same honor to all, and   
not worry about who ranks whom. 

**Celegorm**:   
Sounds like a proper mess. 

**Orodreth**:   
It works, though. 

**Celegorm**:   
I don't see how. 

**Orodreth**:   
No? Well, I have. It just does, somehow. I gather that when you have a minor   
goddess as Queen, many of the ordinary little difficulties of getting people to   
cooperate, and do their jobs responsibly, simply disappear on their own -- they   
don't require alternately bludgeoning and coaxing people into keeping up with   
their duties. 

[shakes head, ironic expression.] 

For instance -- you might find this story interesting -- we heard that in the   
aftermath of the Burning there was a spillover of enemy troops into Brethil,   
which isn't in Doriath but is technically part of their domain . . . as even   
you should concede, since they've managed to hold on to it, so to speak. 

**Celegorm**: [uncomfortable]   
Oh come, don't be such a bad sport-- 

**Orodreth**: [impassive, slightly mocking tone]   
It was after I lost Tol Sirion, to put a precise date, and cause, upon it. My   
great-uncle won't have anything to do with the people who live there, they being   
mortals, which suits them admirably, as they're not much for government -- you   
might remember them, they used to stay in your brother's territory until they were   
almost wiped out by a fair-sized army of Orcs, and decided they'd prefer a home   
with a less exposed location, which is another story entirely -- but he still   
sent in Captain Strongbow and a massive relief force at lightning speed to deal   
with it before they were almost wiped out this time. 

[he does not appear to notice Celegorm's glare] 

--Though knowing Beleg, it probably went more like: "Orcs in Brethil -- I'm   
rounding up volunteers and we'll already have gotten there by the time you receive   
this and Her Majesty will already have told you so I'm not sure why I'm sending   
this at all." 

**Celegorm**:   
Can't imagine anyone of my people talking to me that way. Or any Noldor ruler. 

**Orodreth**: [bitter smile]   
--Can't you? Never paid much attention around here, did you? 

[Before Celegorm can figure it out] 

Elu really has to be upset to be handing out death threats and locking people   
up -- I can't think of anything to compare to it, except for when he threw us   
all out temporarily as a matter of principle and banned the Old Tongue for good   
measure, after he found out about the Kinslaying. 

**Celegorm**: [frighteningly grim]   
Do not bring that up again, cousin. 

[Orodreth just looks at him, raising one eyebrow, not acknowledging the order] 

[brightly:] 

Go on, go on, I can't believe you don't have any more to say about it! 

**Orodreth**: [raising his hands]   
What else is there to say? To describe it properly would take -- an Age, and   
then not be done. It's too much, too real, for that. But it's generally very   
easygoing, once you're inside -- Doriath is the sort of place where if you want   
to live in a tree, instead of a cave, no one will mind -- and they won't,   
ordinarily, make you stay there if you don't want to, either. 

**Celegorm**:   
So -- is Elwe really a proper King at all? Sounds like anarchy to me. 

**Orodreth**:   
Oh yes. Very much so. Make no mistake of that. 

**Celegorm**:   
Why? If people just wander in and out, and no one's in charge and everyone   
is equal-- 

**Orodreth**:   
--Because he is the center of it all -- or rather, they are, for you can't think   
of Elu without Melian -- the axle upon which the Stars revolve, so to speak . . .   
and because all choose to follow, remaining in their Circle. 

[softly] 

--That's the heart of it, isn't it? That's all that matters -- the rest is   
just . . . ornament, when you think about it. It doesn't mean much, if there's   
no holding-to there, nothing to keep one from spinning off into the Void as   
one pleases . . . 

**Celegorm**: [oblivious]   
So what's she like? I mean, really? 

**Orodreth**:   
She isn't crazy, if that's what you're getting at. She just sees things . . .   
differently from . . . nearly everyone, that I know of. 

**Celegorm**:   
What do you mean? 

**Orodreth**: [shrugs]   
She has a strange way of looking at things, as though from an angle high up,   
or far below, the best I can explain it -- as though someone were to paint you   
a picture of a ship from under the sea -- you'd look at it and wonder what it   
was, before your mind adjusted to it and it would still be the same painting but   
you would understand it, now. 

**Curufin**:   
You're talkin' rot, cousin. Things are things. How you look at 'em doesn't   
change them. 

**Orodreth**:   
No? Then perhaps it changes one. Looking at them and thinking about them and   
not being able to go back to seeing them the old way only. But what do I know?   
I was never the Sage in our family -- you are of course free to agree with that   
humorously as you no doubt will-- 

[standing up and pacing as he remembers, while speaking] 

What's a good example . . . ? --There are some flowering trees native to Doriath   
similar to summer-snow, but with dark-rose blooms . . . Once I remarked that I   
wished we had them growing around here, and the conversation turned to geographical   
distribution of species and migration patterns and the usual sorts of reasonable   
discourse you'd expect. Luthien was walking backwards practicing pirouettes on the   
gallery railing where we were sitting, by the way. 

**Celegorm**:   
Didn't anyone tell her to sit down and take part like a grown-up? 

**Orodreth**:   
No. Why? 

**Celegorm**: [nonplussed]   
Well, when people are talking, having a quiet, civilized get-together, you don't   
usually have someone dancing through it at the same time! Time and place for   
everything, and so forth. Nobody thought it was -- well, odd? 

**Orodreth**:   
Not in the least. And after a moon or so there, you wouldn't either. 

[Celegorm rolls his eyes, shaking his head] 

Then a while later when we were talking about returning home, she came up to me   
and handed me a little jar, all done up nicely. "Your trees," she said to me, and   
I thought it was a joke at first. "You packed them very well," I said, and she   
answered, "Just don't let them get wet until you're home. There's a grove at least   
in there." I started laughing, and said, "Oh, they're seeds, not trees," and very   
seriously she told me, "No, they're trees, they're just very small right now. I   
can't give you their parents, they'd be unhappy at being sent away, even if you   
could carry them." 

[Orodreth stops pacing and leans on a pillar] 

--At that point I got a bit patronizing and she said very definitely, "No, they   
are trees -- if they weren't already trees, they couldn't become them without   
being changed. Food-and-water is not a change." And then my sister said, "She's   
right. Think about it." And I did, and you know what -- she was. They've grown   
quite well around here, there's quite a grove of them around the Falls now, I'm   
sure you've noticed . . . 

[shrugging] 

But that's how she is: you think she's totally wrapped up in her art, and oblivous   
to everything going on around her, and in fact she's noticing everything and then   
some, and then she thinks about it, while she's singing or dancing or up in a tree   
somewhere, and then she simply goes and does -- whatever she thinks needs to be   
done about to it. 

[pause] 

**Celegorm**: [catching the subtext at last]   
You don't approve of this mad attachment of hers, surely-- 

**Orodreth**:   
It is not particularly relevant, one way or another. I have no authority over her. 

**Celegorm**:   
Oh, don't be coy -- tell me I haven't the authority either! Be bold! 

**Orodreth**: [unaffected by sarcasm]   
I know very well why you hold her here, and I have forfeited my right to   
interfere -- have pledged it, in fact, unbreakably. 

**Celegorm**: [looks guilty]   
What do you mean? 

**Orodreth**:   
You fear she will indeed prove able to rescue her true-love and with him my   
brother and his followers -- and so you dare not let her go, any more than I   
dare let her go, and let open war break forth in the breaking of our unwritten   
accord -- which, by the by, is a figment of your imagination: I am under Royal   
Mandate to keep the peace here, which is the salve by which I staunch my   
bleeding conscience. 

**Celegorm**:   
Cousin, cousin, cousin! Can't we at least make peace and be friends again,   
on a personal basis, for old times' sake? 

**Orodreth**: [gravely]   
I'm sorry you're so lonely. But it's you who've isolated yourself, not the   
other way round. 

**Celegorm**:   
No? I'm not the one who's too proud to accept the way things are, pretending   
to be independent and honorable and all the while no better than the rest of us! 

**Orodreth**:   
Nor am I. But I am not your friend, either of policy or of private choosing. 

**Celegorm**:   
Didn't I save you a nasty skewering from that mutant boar up in the North Quarter? 

**Orodreth**: [nods]   
You did indeed. 

**Celegorm**:   
--Didn't I stand up for you after Tol Sirion, when everyone was whispering and   
questioning and giving you Looks? 

**Orodreth**:   
You did. And I was grateful. 

**Celegorm**: [nastily]   
Short-lived, though. 

**Orodreth**:   
Do you really not understand? Can you really not see -- that there is -- can be --   
no going back to what was now? That place . . . doesn't exist now, for us -- there   
is no way back. The time for turning back was then, and you chose to press on,   
to . . . burn your ships behind you. 

**Celegorm**: [sneering]   
So much for "forgive and forget," eh? 

**Orodreth**:   
That's not how it works: what -- what happened at Losgar is become of a piece with   
this, and since you are the sort of person who can so casually and thoughtlessly   
betray your friends, I find that there is no one there with whom I can have any   
kind of a friendship -- and that there never was. I was simply deluded. 

**Celegorm**: [upset]   
--That's not it, you don't understand-- 

**Orodreth**: [interrupting]   
--Perhaps. Perhaps I would have to be -- someone else, entirely, to understand --   
your kind of treason. You, at least, are loyal to each other. 

[pause] 

If it's any consolation, I don't think you consciously regard your fellow   
Elves as tools, as mere means to further your ends, and not truly your Kindred   
at all -- I judge it's more that no one beside your siblings has any substance   
to you, exists save in relation to yourselves, and so it really is less monstrous   
than . . . others' behavior. I don't put you on the same level as . . . Morgoth,   
for example. 

**Celegorm**: [sarcasm]   
--How generous of you! Well, I'm off to defend your borders from wolf-spies and   
hell-boars -- you can go on flagellating yourself, since you seem to prefer it. 

**Orodreth**:   
No, as it happens I'm going to sit here and sort through paperwork, which is far   
worse punishment. 

[Celegorm laughs disbelievingly] 

You try it sometime -- going through leaf after leaf, scroll after scroll, when   
the handwriting's as familiar to you as your own, or in a page of dull clerical   
copy there's a note dashed across that makes you laugh out loud because you can   
just hear the tone of voice -- and then you remember . . . Surely you can   
understand -- What about going through your father's things? 

**Celegorm**: [stricken]   
That -- you -- that wasn't-- 

[raising voice] 

We didn't betray him! We tried-- 

**Orodreth**: [gently]   
I know. --Goodbye, Cel. 

[Celegorm stares at him, then storms out, slamming the door behind him. Orodreth   
bends to collect the documents swept off by the air, and just stops, standing by the   
desk, closing his eyes with an anguished expression. Then he goes back again behind it,   
sits down and starts going through the Kingdom's records again. After a moment, however,   
he looks up in sudden realization, rises and hurries into the outer chambers.] 

* * *

**SCENE XII.ii [no dialogue]**

[A hallway in the heart of the City, running along a carefully-sculpted channel   
of one of the underground watercourses of the Narog. Huan trots through in a   
businesslike manner sniffing a trail. People stop talking as he goes by and look   
around him guiltily for Luthien.] 

* * *

**SCENE XIII**

**Gower**:   
--Nor state nor ceremony shall e'er suffice   
to stand for power, that no more present,   
returns not twice-- 

[The Regent's private office -- Finduilas is pouring wax carefully for her father   
to stamp with the royal seal, which is a challenge because a circle large enough to   
take a state seal wants to keep pouring off the page. She blows on it, watching it   
closely from an angle and waves him off when he goes to impress it.] 

**Finduilas**:   
--Not yet, not yet -- it's just like molten glass at this stage, hard on the   
surface, pure liquid underneath. You'll ruin it and we'll have to peel it off   
and start over again. 

[He smiles at her officiousness, and she smiles back] 

--Now. 

[Orodreth emblazons the document.] 

**Orodreth**:   
No matter how many assistants I have, you'll still be the best. 

[Finduilas tosses her head in mock arrogance] 

**Finduilas**:   
Of course I shall. 

[reproachfully] 

--But did you have to shout at him so? 

**Orodreth**: [grimacing]   
Yes, I did. He was supposed to be doing his job. I'm sorry if he got a sudden   
inspiration and wanted to sketch it down right away, but I didn't accept his   
application to mind the door and deal with the small matters and keep   
trespassers out of my office except when he feels like doing something else --   
I took him at his word that he would, in fact, mind things for me and if I can't   
rely on him to do that, then he needs to find me someone who will be responsible   
enough to put his or her own enjoyments to the side for the duration of service   
and go back to his studio. --Grinding Ice, I'm doing it now. 

[sighs] 

Anyway, he hasn't bolted yet, so the shouting seems to have done some good.   
--Either that, or he's waiting to assassinate me. 

**Finduilas**: [appalled]   
Father! 

**Orodreth**:   
But I don't think so. I do think it was necessary to get through to him,   
unfortunately. 

**Finduilas**:   
I don't know -- it just seems so -- uncivilized. 

**Orodreth**: [wry]   
Unfortunately, civilization requires a good deal of work to keep it so. And   
sometimes the work is rather rough on one. A good deal of suffering and sweat   
goes into creating any worthwhile performance, on a musical instrument, or out   
of a forge, or -- here. 

[shaking his head] 

I had no idea so much of it. It . . . all . . . seemed to take care of itself.   
Now -- I feel like someone building a city out of sand -- no blocks, only mortar   
-- and dry. Grain by grain by grain . . . I don't know how he did it. I'm beginning   
to think he wasn't joking when he said sleep was a waste of time. 

**Finduilas**: [uncomfortably]   
I do wish you wouldn't keep dismissing yourself, Father . . . He wouldn't have   
chosen if you if you weren't capable of doing it well. 

**Orodreth**:   
No, it's only that -- the alternative -- was even more unacceptable. 

**Finduilas**:   
But . . . I know you thought that there were things that should have been done   
better, or that didn't get done and should have, that you would have if, well-- 

[he doesn't say anything, and she looks away] 

That is -- I mean -- you -- I always thought that people ignored you, that you felt   
relegated to the back ranks, overshadowed . . . by . . . him . . .   


**Orodreth**: [sighing]   
Overshadowed? . . . Yes. As one feels overshadowed by a mountain, or by the forest   
itself, and -- never having known or experienced anything else -- cannot even   
conceive of what absence of same would entail. And now . . . 

[shakes his head, runs his hands along the just-signed proclamation] 

And the diplomatic complications . . . I swear I'd no idea there were so many   
different ethnicities in Narog alone, each with their own completely different   
idea of what's fitting and proper! Even in a single village . . . And they don't   
-- that is, mistrust is too strong a word -- but they don't trust me to understand   
what they're getting at or referring to, not without complicated explanations --   
quite correctly, I'm discovering -- and that just leaves so much open to simple   
misinterpretation, and I hardly dare decide anything for fear of offending against   
someone's legitimate claims. 

**Finduilas**: [frowning]   
Is it true that the natives don't really understand what we did for them? That   
they think we're to blame for all the troubles in Beleriand? That's ridiculous,   
isn't it? I mean, obviously we're not. 

**Orodreth**:   
Who said that? Her Highness of Doriath? 

[Finduilas nods] 

I'm not sure that I would agree with the Doriathrin interpretation of history   
in all particulars, but the stance is not entirely without validity and the   
concerns worth bearing under consideration. 

**Finduilas**: [wryly]   
Is that a "yes" or a "no"? 

**Orodreth**: [brief real smile]   
Of course. 

[considering look] 

Are you going to invite her to your Gathering tonight? 

**Finduilas**: [blushing]   
I -- I hadn't -- I didn't think she'd wish it. 

**Orodreth**: [pragmatic]   
It's going to look very singular and undiplomatic if you don't. You've invited   
Lord Celebrimbor, haven't you? 

**Finduilas**:   
Yes, but he probably won't come. 

[pause] 

It would be so -- awkward -- if she did . . . 

**Orodreth**:   
As would not inviting your cousin and seniormost member of the nobility present. 

**Finduilas**: [grimacing]   
But-- 

**Orodreth**:   
I know. Believe me, I know, dear. There are no good decisions, sometimes. 

[silence -- Finduilas moves things about in distracted "tidying" of the desk] 

**Finduilas**:   
Are you coming? 

**Orodreth**:   
Most unlikely. I feel guilty in advance for taking the time away from this

[gesturing inclusively of the office mess] 

to eat dinner with you. Whether Her Highness attends or not. 

**Finduilas**: [doubtful, a bit sceptical]   
There isn't really that much work, is there? 

**Orodreth**:   
You haven't any idea, child. --I haven't any idea. But I'm starting to. 

**Finduilas**:   
Father! You're not going to slide out of it, are you? You promised! 

**Orodreth**: [snapping out of it]   
What? Oh no. Even if you were willing to overlook such abuse of your patience,   
it would be most ungracious to the chefs and disrespectful of their work. This   
isn't going anywhere, and a few hours won't make much difference, I'm afraid. 

[stands up] 

Would you mind putting out the warmer, dear? 

[Finduilas extinguishes the flame under the wax and takes his arm; as they walk into   
the inner rooms of the suite:] 

You'll have to tell me all about your latest composition over dinner; I'm afraid I   
didn't completely understand what you were trying to accomplish with the variations   
in the fourth movement when you described the idea to me last Summer... 

* * *

**SCENE XIII.ii [no dialogue]**

[Huan arrives at the entrance to the Regent's apartments. He goes into the antechamber   
and lies down rather surreptitiously among the raised beds of waterplants, not having   
been noticed by the Aide, who is working in the files with the rather set and diligent   
expression of someone who has been thoroughly dressed-down in very recent memory.] 

* * *

**SCENE XIV.i**

  
  


**Gower**:   
--What would the melancholy heart, of peace,   
of quiet, or songs whose sadness is their beauty,   
will may yet forsake, for sake of duty-- 

[Luthien's apartments -- Finduilas enters, looking very exasperated, with Huan beside   
her holding her hand carefully in his mouth the way retrievers often like to do.] 

**Finduilas**:   
Huan, what's wrong with you? Do you know how -- why do you want to follow me? 

[he lets go, giving a penitent twitch of his tail; to Luthien] 

I was coming to talk to you and he insisted on sticking to me like a burr -- he   
couldn't have been closer if he'd been sewn onto my skirts! And holding my   
hand -- ugh! I can't imagine why. 

**Luthien**:   
Er... 

**Finduilas**:   
One moment, if you please, cousin -- I've got to wash my hands. 

[Luthien looks mildly guilty but says nothing while Finduilas goes into the private   
part of the apartments. Huan wags his tail, grinning] 

**Luthien**: [whisper]   
Thanks -- I didn't think she'd be so hard to find. 

[He wags harder and flops down on the floor next to her. Finduilas returns, still   
shaking her hands reflexively] 

**Finduilas**: [genteelly peevish]   
I don't know what's gotten into him: he's never been clingy like this before.   
I know some dogs who are given to hand-holding, but it's rather different with   
a Hound that size. 

**Luthien**: [innocently]   
Oh. You, um, were coming to find me? 

**Finduilas**:   
Yes -- 

[she gives Luthien a funny look, finally realizing she's not sitting on a bench or   
chair but perched on the wall, and sits down in a chair herself, smoothing her skirts   
nervously] 

I'm so sorry, but with everything I'd forgotten to mention it to you earlier --   
we're having a little get-together tonight, at Gwin's -- well, actually his father's   
hosting it, but I'm mostly in charge, and -- it occurred to me very belatedly that   
I hadn't remembered to invite you. 

[her tone of voice throughout is distinctly dismissive of it, oh-you-wouldn't-like-it   
designed to discourage interest, and she doesn't look enthusiastic either.] 

**Luthien**: [neutral voice]   
A get-together. 

**Finduilas**:   
--Just a small Gathering, some friends of ours and House Guilin. Perhaps some music,   
discussion of theories, nothing very elaborate -- nothing inappropriate, of course-- 

**Luthien**: [musing]   
I've not had much heart for music, since my parents broke us up. 

**Finduilas**: [relieved]   
Well, I was pretty sure you wouldn't want to come, but I didn't want to make you   
think we were leaving you out-- 

[starting to rise] 

**Luthien**:   
--Who's going to be there? Your father? Anyone else I might know from Doriath? 

**Finduilas**: [sitting down again, wringing the fabric of her dress nervously]   
Well . . . I'm not sure that Father will be able to make it, but . . . there might   
be some people you'd recognize. Mostly friends of Gwin's, from the army, or mine,   
from here . . . 

**Luthien**: [decisive]   
I'll come. It might do me good to get out and talk to people, take my mind off things. 

[Finduilas looks stricken, though covers well] 

**Finduilas**:   
Oh! Oh . . . er, of course . . . 

**Luthien**:   
What's the matter? Don't you want me to come? Isn't that why you asked me? 

**Finduilas**:   
Well -- please don't take this the wrong way, but -- I can lend you a dress,   
without too much trouble, since you're tall for being Sindar, but we'll have to   
to start now to accomplish anything with your hair. 

**Luthien**:   
What's wrong with my hair? 

**Finduilas**: [apologetic]   
Well . . . it looks like you cut it yourself in the dark. Or without a mirror. 

[pause] 

**Luthien**: [flatly]   
That's exactly what I did. As you know. 

**Finduilas**:   
Yes -- but -- it looks it. 

[longer pause] 

**Luthien**: [ice]   
Well, then, we'll match, won't we. 

**Finduilas**: [sighs]   
Please don't be so sensitive about everything. Nobody takes you seriously when   
you're so touchy and, well, messy. It's as if you're trying to attract attention   
and be unpleasant, and that just rubs everyone the wrong way. 

[Luthien glares at her, and Finduilas looks away in discomfort] 

**Luthien**: [aside]   
No one takes me seriously like this, hm? 

[aloud] 

Very well. This is your City, I'll do as you would, then. 

**Finduilas**: [dismayed]   
Oh . . . You're sure about this? 

**Luthien**:   
Once I make up my mind about something, I stick with it. 

**Finduilas**:   
Er -- yes. 

[sighs] 

All right, then, we'd best go and find something for you now. 

[she stands up, and Luthien jumps down from the ledge] 

I've got one outfit that I think would suit you particularly well, and it wouldn't   
point up your haircut the way most of mine will. In fact-- 

[she walks towards the door, sounding a bit more enthusiastic] 

I really think that will work well, because it's a style my aunt designed to wear   
her hair braided up with, and if we can just do something with the ends, then-- 

[Luthien, not listening, stops and bends down to scratch Huan's nose] 

**Luthien**: [aside to Huan]   
I don't expect you want to come to this. But thank you for finding her for me,   
and providing me moral support. I expect I'll see you later-- 

**Finduilas**: [curiously]   
Luthien? 

**Luthien**:   
--Coming! 

[aside, shaking head] 

--The things one does... 

* * *

**SCENE XV**

**Gower**:   
--"Faithful as a hound," the adage old,   
yet how shall faith be held with faithlessness?   
Of little use to have a form both strong and bold   
when mind and heart are held in such distress-- 

[On the terrace in front of the Gates Huan is lying down like a statue of a lion,   
while the sentries give him uneasy looks, wondering what he's doing there and if   
he senses something they can't. A party of hunters rides up from out the woods,   
Celegorm in the lead, and dismount, some of them leading the horses, others carrying   
the game. Celegorm notices his Hound when the rest of the pack goes up to greet him.   
(Needless to say, it's somewhat loud.)] 

**Celegorm**: [unpleasantly surprised]   
What are you doing here? You're supposed to be entertaining the Princess Luthien.   
If you're not going to do that -- you should have been attending me. We could have   
used you, you know. 

[shakes his head] 

Now, you go back to Her Highness' rooms and stay this time, boy. 

[Sadly Huan gets up and walks in with the rest of the party, while the other hounds make   
worried noises when he doesn't respond to them.] 

* * *

**SCENE XVI**

**Gower**:   
--As well might gild the gold day-lily   
or plate with silver the brighter stars of night,   
as render fair yet fairer still by handwork silly   
changing changeless pattern to accustomed sight-- 

[The Regent's apartments, Finduilas' rooms -- Luthien is sitting on the bed looking   
rather ironic and put-upon. She is wearing a sumptuous and graceful gown of deep reds   
while Finduilas sits behind her fussing with her hopeless hair. She still holds on to   
her own dress and wrap, rolled up tightly in her hands, however. A jewelry casket is   
open on a small stand nearby.] 

**Finduilas**:   
No, of course you can't wear blue, it's Autumn. 

**Luthien**:   
But you're wearing blue. 

**Finduilas**:   
Yes, but I'm blonde. 

**Luthien**:   
--Is there someplace in Arda that that makes sense? Because I never heard anything   
like that from Mom. 

[Finduilas laughs] 

Why does everyone think I'm trying to be funny? 

[aside] 

I'm beginning to think I know why Galadriel never stays here very long -- nor Finrod! 

**Finduilas**:   
Do you want the gold earrings with garnets, or the red-enameled earrings that   
I made to go with it? They're both quite nice. 

**Luthien**: [trying not to be rude]   
If you made the enamels to match then I guess they'd go best with it, right? 

**Finduilas**:   
Well, I think so -- but then you might want to wear real gems, because of your rank.   
Either set has matching hair ornaments, so it doesn't matter. 

**Luthien**:   
Well that's how I feel about it all. 

[she pokes listlessly through the jewelry in the case.] 

Oh -- no, I think I'll wear these. 

**Finduilas**: [looks]   
Oh, no, those won't do. 

**Luthien**:   
Why not? They have matching hair ornaments too, I see-- 

**Finduilas**:   
But those are for Summer. You can't wear roses right now. 

**Luthien**:   
But they're made of white enamel and gold. How can it matter when you wear them,   
since they don't fade? 

**Finduilas**: [shaking her head in dismay]   
You just can't. It would look so -- odd. 

**Luthien**:   
Well, they're what I'm wearing. Sorry. 

**Finduilas**:   
Oh Luthien, please--! 

**Luthien**:   
Nope, nope, it's that or no jewelry at all. 

**Finduilas**: [humoring]   
Oh, very well, as you please. 

[pause] 

--Does everyone in Doriath talk that way? 

**Luthien**: [defensive]   
What way? 

**Finduilas**:   
Oh, you know, --your accent. 

**Luthien**:   
I don't have an accent. You lot are the ones with the funny accents, changing   
all the sounds around. 

**Finduilas**:   
No, it's you who have changed the language: we spoke it the original way. --And   
those expressions. "Nope," "Yep" and the like? 

**Luthien**:   
Oh, that's North Country Sindarin. I picked those up from Beren. I got into the   
habit of using them to annoy my parents, it was an ideological thing, before I   
tried to run away and got shut up in the tree. --Now I don't even remember I'm   
doing it. 

[half-smiles] 

I've tried to get him to teach me his old language, the one they spoke before   
Finrod taught them Sindarin, but he says there's no point-- 

**Finduilas**:   
Well, there isn't, really, is there? I mean, it isn't as though there's anyone   
left to speak it with. 

**Luthien**:   
How can you talk so casually about the death of an entire civilization? 

**Finduilas**: [uncomfortable]   
Well -- it isn't the same as if Nargothrond were destroyed, really. 

**Luthien**:   
Oh, don't start that about their culture being all derivative and all -- I don't   
want to hear it this time, either. 

[Finduilas gives her a worried frown] 

**Finduilas**:   
You're not going to be like that all night, are you? Will you at least make an   
effort to be sociable and civil? 

**Luthien**: [wry]   
Don't worry. I will be sure to uphold the family honor. 

[Finduilas gets up and goes out of the room to put away the jewel box. Luthien,   
frowning, looks at the rolls of cloth in her hands; after deliberating she briefly   
sets them down on the bedspread, but after a moment's hesitation picks them up again   
and stuffs them up the long sleeves of her gown, not trusting to still be there when   
she gets back.] 

**Finduilas**: [businesslike]   
Now, let's see if I can't make your hair a little more presentable. Perhaps if   
I use the roses to hold down the worst of these tufts . . . 

[Luthien's expression becomes completely glazed as Finduilas gets more enthusiastic.] 

* * *

**SCENE XVII**

**Gower**:   
Fleeing ceremony and the affairs of state,   
the princely artist ne'er can 'scape   
the burdens of his blood, duty, nor fate-- 

[Luthien's chamber. Celebrimbor is setting a final piece of coving in place around   
the fountain just installed across from the bed, where it can be seen as well as heard.   
Some trouble has been taken to make it fit into the surrounding decoration, which he   
pauses to admire. When Huan comes in behind him he doesn't look around to see who it is.] 

**Celebrimbor**:   
All right, you can turn the water on again, I've got everything connected up-- 

[starts when Huan breathes in his ear] 

Oh! It's you. I thought you were one of the guards. --Don't, don't put your nose   
in that, I had to touch in some of the frieze around it and it's still wet in parts. 

[the Hound gives him a reproachful Look and sits] 

Sorry. I'm just so used to people being careless with my things. I guess the   
fact that you're back means my uncle's back as well, eh? 

[Huan thumps the floor with his tail once and whines] 

I suppose that answers my question -- am I going to this wretched affair tonight   
or not? 

[sighs, gets up] 

Well. I'll check this first, then head on over to Gwin's House. What joy. 

[looks at Huan] 

Aren't you coming? 

**Huan**:   
[whining, lies down] 

**Celebrimbor**: [lifts his hands]   
If her Highness doesn't mind you underfoot, it's no business of mine what you do. 

[looks around at the room again] 

Superb . . . Somehow between "technical and organzational genius" and Orodreth's   
"terrifying warrior goddess" -- "intuitively brilliant artist" seems to have gotten   
overlooked. Not that I imagine she'd give me so much as a "good day" after this . . . 

[snorts] 

It's not as if I had anything to do with it, or as if I could have done anything --   
Can you begin to understand what it's like, being the only person in our family with   
even the barest capacity for empathy? It's hellish. Everyone assumes that I approve   
of Grandfather and the rest of the lunatics without even bothering to ask, and even   
my friends who know better are treating me as though first of all I must have known   
in advance, and secondly as though I must benefit from it. And you know what that   
means? Half of them won't speak to me, and the rest are too polite, and I can't   
figure out which of them want me to put in good words for them-- 

[short laugh] 

--as if that would help them! -- and which ones are afraid of me now. Oh, the honour   
of belonging to House Feanor -- it's almost more than I can stand. 

[He turns, realizing that someone has entered the chamber and is witnessing his rant] 

**Guard**: [warily]   
My lord? 

[he looks around the room, confirming that no one besides Huan is present] 

**Celebrimbor**: [savagely]   
What? 

**Guard**:   
Er -- you -- you did want the water turned back on, did you not? 

**Celebrimbor**: [haughty]   
As a matter of fact I was on the verge of coming to do it myself. --Should I? 

**Guard**:   
No, sir, I'll . . . take care of it. 

[he leaves, but can't help checking one last time. Celebrimbor shakes his head   
and laughs bitterly before beginning to put away his tools.] 

**Celebrimbor**:   
You don't know how lucky you are, being a Hound. No conflicts of loyalty,   
no agonizing decisions for you, just to be happy doing a job you love! 

[Huan sighs, putting his head down on his paws] 

* * *

**SCENE XVIII**

**Gower**:   
--As though no auguries most solemn should presage,   
lightness and pretense hold sway in Nargothrond,   
where all have else forgot their most solemn bond,   
else pretend, penning self-reproach in pleasant cage-- 

[Guilin's House apartments. A long solar with a very high ceiling, set with gold   
mosaic -- very bright effects. Luthien is standing next to Finduilas, the ambient   
light and the dark outfit doing nothing for her pallor. Superficially she looks   
like a model of royal dignity and sophistication, but her eyes are suspiciously wide   
and her smile a little too set -- if she wasn't too proud she'd be hiding behind her   
cousin right now or looking for a corner to lurk in. Despite promises, Gwin is scowling   
off by the wines and not mixing at all, or else his expression is keeping everyone at   
bay. The people who have brought instruments are tuning up and/or having an argument   
about it.] 

**Finduilas**: [aside to Luthien]   
--Please don't look like this is such an ordeal -- you wanted to come, after all-- 

[to a newly-arrived guest] 

Oh, I'm so glad you're here -- we'll be able to make up the full ensemble, tonight,   
I think. --I don't believe you've had the honor of being introduced to my cousin,   
Princess Luthien of Doriath? 

**Bard**: [startled, belated recognition]   
Oh! Stars, I hadn't realized how tall you were when I saw you at the feast, the   
other night. 

**Luthien**: [baffled]   
Er, yes -- one often is, if one's parents are . . . 

[she waits for some explanation; the Bard is embarrassed realizing the social blunder] 

**Bard**:   
Quite . . . so . . . 

[Awkward pause] 

I'd best go find out what tuning they've agreed upon. --If you'll excuse me? 

[Luthien turns to Finduilas, frowning.] 

**Luthien**:   
That's the seventh person to make a comment like that. Starting with our host,   
who at least managed not to laugh about it. What is so -- incredibly fascinating,   
not to say amusing, about my height? 

**Finduilas**:   
Oh -- Well -- most of the locals aren't anywhere near as tall as we are. It's, er,   
just surprising. 

**Luthien**:   
But why is it so -- humorous? 

**Finduilas**: [whispering]   
You wouldn't -- I'll explain later. 

**Luthien**:   
Explain what? 

**Finduilas**: [trying to shush her]   
Please, I'll tell you later. 

**Luthien**: [edged]   
Tell me why it's funny -- or I'm leaving right now. 

**Finduilas**: [pleading]   
You won't understand-- 

[Luthien turns and walks towards the nearest door, which turns out to be a closet.] 

**Luthien**: [not backing down]   
Where's the exit? 

**Finduilas**:   
Luthien -- it -- 

[gives up] 

Beren -- isn't. 

**Luthien**:   
. . . 

**Finduilas**:   
I told you so. 

**Luthien**:   
I don't believe it. I'd ask why but I'm afraid the answer would completely destroy   
any remaining traces of sanity. --Why? My mother's taller than my dad. 

**Finduilas**:   
Yes -- but -- so much? 

**Luthien**:   
Well. No. --So what? 

**Finduilas**:   
It . . . just . . . looks awfully strange. 

**Luthien**:   
How would you know? You haven't seen us together. 

**Finduilas**:   
Cousin, please, I -- I have to go see to my guests-- 

[Flees. Luthien glowers, starts to look fierce and dangerously alert instead of wan   
and overwhelmed.] 

**Luthien**: [aside ranting to self]   
Listening isn't working, since no one's saying anything meaningful to me. But how   
to start a conversation without throttling it in the same breath? If I just say,   
"Don't you all realize that the Enemy has put a forgetting spell on you so that   
you can't think about fighting him?" then won't they just forget what I said? I   
swear this feels more like one of Beren's weird stories from Dor-Lomin than anything   
real at all -- if you throw a stone into a certain pool you turn to stone or kill   
a bird and no one recognizes you after -- Like the world, only a little mad. Perhaps   
I've got to become mad myself, to speak to them? That's rather a frightening idea-- 

[The lady of House Feanor's following who was so patronizing to Beren sees Luthien alone   
and approaches, interrupting her deliberations] 

**Lady**:   
So! You're the famous Luthien of Doriath. Your mother really is a goddess, as they say? 

**Luthien**: [brightly]   
Yes, and I'm taller than you. And your consort. 

**Lady**: [checking, at a loss for the next thing to say, her lines having been stolen]   
Ah, yes, I -- I -- I admit to having been rather -- er, surprised, at that. 

[frowning] 

--Is that the fashion in Menegroth these days? 

**Luthien**: [manic cheerfulness]   
Yes, it's quite stylish, being tall, though I don't know what we'll do if it goes   
out. --No, I borrowed it from my cousin. 

**Lady**: [struggling to regain composure]   
No -- I meant -- that is to say -- your hair, Princess Luthien. 

**Luthien**:   
You haven't heard? I cut it off to make a cape out of it. And a rope. 

**Lady**:   
Truthfully? That -- wasn't exaggeration? 

**Luthien**:   
Hardly. 

**Lady**:   
It truly was that long? 

**Luthien**: [shrugs]   
When I finished with it, it was. 

**Lady**: [shaking her head]   
I still can't believe you did that. Everyone thinks it's completely bizarre. 

**Luthien**: [finds this blunt curiosity rather refreshing, smiles not entirely hostilely]   
Well, one does what one must. Sometimes I find it rather unbelievable myself. 

**Lady**:   
When are you going to grow your hair long again? 

**Luthien**:   
No idea. 

**Lady**:   
But don't you miss it? 

**Luthien**:   
Very much. But I'm working on getting it back. 

[her interrogator looks confused] 

You wouldn't happen to know who's got it at present? Supposedly I'm being all   
generous in allowing your Sages to study it, but I'm afraid it's gotten shoved   
off and forgotten, and if that's the case I'd really like to have it back. 

**Lady**:   
Your -- hair? 

**Luthien**:   
The rest of it, yes. 

**Lady**:   
Oh, your cloak! --No, I'm so sorry but I haven't the faintest idea. I assumed   
it was still in your possession. 

[The way it often happens at parties, now that someone is talking to her, a little   
knot of conversation begins to form around Luthien. Finduilas drags Gwindor over   
as dubious moral support] 

**A Musician:**   
So -- is your mother really one of the Powers? 

**Luthien**:   
A minor Power, yes; she's Maiar, not Valar. 

**A Courier:** [from Gwindor's old outfit]   
But still a goddess, nonetheless. --I find that very difficult to imagine. 

**Luthien**:   
She looks just like anyone else -- well, not just like, there's nobody quite like   
my mother, but -- she isn't really different from any other Elf, except for what   
she can do. 

**A Sculptor**: [dryly]   
And the fact that people become legendarily tongue-tied upon first seeing her --   
even those born in Aman -- and can't explain what it is about her afterwards. 

**Luthien**: [shaking her head]   
Oh, I don't think it was her, I just think it was the awkwardness of the situation   
and the fact that we'd never met them. --And the effort of editing out recent   
events and all, which rather puts a strain on conversation. 

**Lord**: [yes, this is the same chap who was so snide to Beren, joining his wife now]   
Why ever did Melian come to Middle-earth, your Highness? I've always wondered   
about that. 

**Luthien**:   
The same reason as you, pretty much -- to explore, see the world, get out on   
her own. 

**Lord**:   
Of course, that all is long in the past, now, that she's settled down and devoted   
herself to looking after one small area. 

**Luthien**:   
Doriath isn't small. --But that does seem to happen, doesn't it? 

[pause -- this begins to register on her audience] 

Or are you really wondering why she married my father? I'm getting the impression   
that that's what you're really trying to ask. 

**Lord**:   
Er -- as a matter of fact, yes. 

**Luthien**:   
Because she fell in love with him, obviously. 

**Lady**:   
But why would one of the divine Powers marry so far beneath her? And not only   
a mere Elf, but a Dark-elf to boot? 

**Luthien**: [heated]   
My father is not a Dark-elf. My father was one of the three Chosen ones, just   
like your kings. He went to Valinor, with Ingwe and Finwe, he just stayed here   
with my mother instead of going back. He didn't need to go to Aman again. 

[Perhaps in response to her own informal manner, perhaps not, the crowd of guests   
becomes less and less formal and more direct in their interrogations and opinions --   
she is both very much "at bay" and holding her own, for the moment] 

**Bard**:   
But then why did he choose to reject High-elven culture? 

**An Archer**: [from Gwindor's old company]   
Especially after we saved you all from the Dark Lord and taught you how to fight. 

**Luthien**:   
No, you didn't. You all showed up at the last minute, after we'd been fighting   
for Great Years, and acted like you invented warfare. We watched you relearn   
everything we knew for centuries. 

**Lord**:   
But if it wasn't for us rescuing you, fortunately before it was too late, you'd   
all have been thralls speaking the Black Speech in Angband long ago. We might not   
have "invented warfare" but we certainly improved upon it. Our weapons and armor   
protected you from invasion, Princess, whether you wish to believe it or not. 

**Luthien**: [getting hotter]   
No, actually, it was Denethor and his people who did that, long before you arrived.   
And then my mother set up the Labyrinth around and made a haven where the Enemy's   
powers can't come, though he keeps trying anyway. And again, that was completely   
without any Noldor help. The Singers didn't have your arms or horses, but they kept   
their pact with my father anyway -- why do you think we gave them complete freedom   
of our realm? They earned it with their blood! 

**Lord**:   
Oh, I think I'd have heard about that if it were so, your Highness. 

[pause] 

**Luthien**: [shrugs]   
Well, it's like the old saying goes -- "Talks much, listens little." Hard to hear   
when you're making noise, or when you think there's nothing of value to be heard,   
or when everyone around you simply agrees with you. 

**Sculptor**: [aside to Gwindor]   
I think she just insulted all of us. 

**Gwindor**: [dry]   
You don't say. 

**Finduilas**:   
This is becoming a disaster. 

**Gwindor**:   
You'll note I've refrained from saying -- I said as much. 

**Finduilas**: [sharply]   
Until now. 

[Enter Celebrimbor unobtrusively. He drifts up in the background, nods to Gwindor] 

**Lord**:   
But don't you think, your Highness, that you ought to show some gratitude for   
all the benefits that we brought you from the West? 

**Luthien**:   
What benefits? All the benefits of Aman that we've got came from my mother,   
before you were even born. All you did was go off and make your own closed   
societies up north and out east and ignore the rest of us, until Morgoth   
trounced you and you had to find people to take you in. 

**Bard**:   
But if you're going to talk about closed societies, shouldn't you turn your   
mirror upon yourself, first, Highness? After all, it's your House that sealed   
off a quarter of central Beleriand and banned not only us but our very language   
from popular usage. 

**Luthien**:   
That was symbolic-- 

**Bard**:   
It seemed entirely real to myself, at least. 

**Celebrimbor**: [breaking in]   
I always assumed it was a particularly clever way of protecting local cultural   
differences and dialects, myself. Who could argue with a gesture of grief? Far   
more effective than any encouragements or logical arguments to that effect. 

**Luthien**:   
No, it was completely sincere, sir! 

**Celebrimbor**: [placating (but rather lecturing he can't help it)]   
I didn't mean that it wasn't, my lady, I only meant that there could well be   
more than one reason for a ruler to do something. I know that our cousin for   
instance was quite troubled by the rapid abandonment of native art forms and   
linguistic variations for imported ones, and was quite helpless to do anything   
about it, since any attempts to encourage the, er, retention of older forms were   
regarded with suspicion. Attempts to withhold those benefits of Aman, you know.   
We talked about it on several occasions. 

**Luthien**: [a little doubtful]   
I still don't think you're right, I don't think Dad would do things for ulterior   
motives like that. 

**Finduilas**:   
But you yourself talked about how subtle and underhanded his way of getting around   
his promise to you was, Luthien. And then locking you up afterwards. 

**Bard**:   
That wasn't just an exaggerated rumour, then? Your family really did keep you   
as a prisoner? 

**Luthien**:   
Well, it was house arrest, not a dungeon -- but thirty-odd fathoms of airspace   
is an extremely good barrier to leaving. 

**Sculptor**:   
Why did you escape that way? It sounds like utter insanity. 

**Luthien**: [raising her eyebrows]   
What better way would you have recommended? 

**Sculptor**:   
But -- your hair? That's just so -- unspeakably peculiar. 

**Luthien**: [shrugs]   
I didn't have anything else. It wasn't like I could have carved steps down the   
trunks without anyone noticing, or, in all likelihood, killing myself. So I just   
thought: what am I best at? --Music; healing; fibre arts; making things grow.   
--What have I got to work with? Not much. But if you can make a bowstring out   
of hair, why not a longer cord? It's sort of like a cape already, it's dark,   
I want to be invisible in the dark -- I just need more. So what do I need? Tools.   
What could be more natural than for me being bored to ask for some harmless   
crafts projects to keep busy with? 

[raises her hands] 

I guess I could have asked for a potted plant, some kind of creeper like flowering   
bindweed, and grown that down to the ground -- but it would have been hard to make   
camouflage out of it. So I just -- made enough of it to go round and made it strong   
enough to work. 

**Bard**: [expert opinion]   
I'm afraid I simply don't see how that's possible. You shouldn't be able to   
change the fundamental nature of anything. 

**Luthien**:   
I could try to explain what I did, but if you're convinced it won't work it   
probably won't make any sense to you. Essentially -- I just channelled every   
comparable thing out there into it, and combined their qualities with my own   
power to, hm, encourage it to imitate them. It wasn't a change so much as an   
-- oh, enhancement. 

**Bard**:   
Ah, I do understand the "sympathetic principle," your Highness; I'm simply   
unconvinced that so great an -- enhancement -- could be accomplished. 

**Luthien**: [amazed]   
The fact that I did it isn't enough? 

**Bard**:   
I would never deny that, but I feel certain that some other interpretation of   
the process must be looked for. Quite possibly some conjunction of forces aligned   
between Arda and the nearer stars, occurring simultaneously, might have been   
responsible for the results, do you not think more likely? 

**Luthien**:   
--No. 

**Lady**:   
Well, I for one cannot imagine even attempting such a ploy. 

**Luthien**: [nods]   
I suppose I could have asked for a rucksack and camouflage and a compact tent   
and so forth, but that would have been rather obvious, wouldn't it? --Not that   
it wouldn't have been more comfortable, but I can't imagine no one would have   
commented on it. Besides, I'd have had to ask for rope to get down with, and   
none of that would have solved the problem of what to do about the sentries. 

**Archer**:   
But weren't you frightened? A bowstring is one thing, but a lifeline! 

**Luthien**:   
More like terrified out of my mind. But I'd done all the calculations, and it   
should have been strong enough for the tension. 

**Archer**:   
But what if you'd been wrong? 

**Luthien**: [shrugs]   
Then we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we? 

[the meaning of this occasions some rather dismayed looks, when it sinks in] 

**Archer**: [admiring]   
I say, you're fabulously brave, Princess Luthien -- no wonder the Enemy's never   
been able to conquer Doriath, if you're typical of its people! 

**Luthien**:   
Hm -- they wouldn't say I was typical, because they think I'm a complete lunatic.   
And I didn't feel very brave. 

**Archer**:   
Well, we could have done with more of your sort of "terrified" in the Leaguer,   
without a doubt. 

**Luthien**:   
Oh, were you at Serech too? Did you know Beren's family? 

[extreme embarrassment all around, especially among the veterans] 

**Archer**:   
No -- that is -- not at the Fen, but -- I -- I did know the Beorings, of course,   
from the siege, and -- over the years, you know, here -- and at our other forts. 

**Luthien**:   
You were stationed at the Fortress? 

[awkward looks] 

**Gwindor**:   
We were there -- sometimes. Rotation. 

**Luthien**:   
Were you there at the end? 

**Finduilas**: [hissed]   
--Luthien! 

**Luthien**: [ignoring her]   
I understand that the Fortress was abandoned intact. Wouldn't that mean that   
the defenses would be the same as when you left them -- so they'd be more   
vulnerable to you, since you know their strengths and weaknesses? 

**Courier**:   
That -- would only be the case if the Enemy hasn't made changes. It's far from   
a safe assumption that he hasn't, your Highness. 

**Luthien**:   
Couldn't you tell? 

**Archer**:   
Well, by that time, it would be too late. 

**Luthien**:   
I don't mean when you're actually fighting there. I mean spying on their   
headquarters over the years. 

**Courier**:   
I'm afraid there haven't been any definitive reports since we were forced   
to retreat-- 

**Luthien**:   
--You haven't kept it under observation? 

**Courier**: [even more patronizing]   
The entire region is under the Enemy's control-- 

**Luthien**: [annoyed]   
--Yes, I know-- 

**Courier**: [less superior, more defensive]   
I meant, your Highness, that it's too dangerous to try to infiltrate. It would   
just be wasting lives. We've concentrated on a strong front line of defense to   
prevent further encroachment. 

[she frowns] 

**Luthien**:   
I don't understand why they left the bridge and the gates intact, if nothing   
else. I know that the ones we use are wood, but still, can't you pull down   
stonework with enough horses? Or dig under it, or something? 

**Archer**:   
You weren't there, your Highness. There was -- wasn't time for that. 

**Celebrimbor**: [curious]   
What about the Master Word? Or was there not one used there? And hence it   
left standing? That would explain why no counterattack was ever mounted. 

[uncomfortable silence] 

**Gwindor**: [embarrassed & rushed]   
Anyhow that would have been the first thing to have been changed. 

**Luthien**:   
But still, even if they have changed things about the defenses, they can't have   
changed all, right? There must be posterns, or, or, ledges in the rock that you   
know about, or what about for the water to go through? Aren't there conduits going   
into the castle from underground? You wouldn't want to have to go out for water   
while under attack. Wouldn't it be easier to make a culvert under the surface   
than try to drill down farther for a well? 

[more silence] 

I mean, I know I don't really know what I'm talking about, but I'm trying to look   
at it rationally. It almost seems as if you've got this idea of Sauron as invincible   
and of the castle as impenetrable, and so you're not even able to think of ways   
around it. 

**Finduilas**: [undertone, grabbing her arm and very severely]   
Luthien. This is hardly the proper time nor place to bring that up. 

**Luthien**:   
Well, if I'd ever been able to talk to your father today, I would have asked   
him instead. 

**Finduilas**: [outraged]   
Holy Stars! Have you no sense of propriety whatsoever? Don't you dare persecute   
him about the Fortress, he doesn't need any more stress and that's the most   
tactless thing you could say or do-- 

**Gwindor**: [tersely]   
--Faelivrin. Stop making a scene. You're behaving worse than anyone right now. 

**Finduilas**:   
Do not tell me what to do--! 

**Luthien**:   
Instead of fighting with each other, shouldn't we be fighting with the Enemy?   
Is there anyone here who disagrees with that? 

[turns, holding out her hands] 

Surely all of us, together, cannot be daunted so easily? Don't tell me that   
the best and brightest of Nargothrond can't with all the resources here manage   
to overcome the confusion of your leaderless state and recover our people --   
and the advantage in the War! -- by concerted effort? 

**Musician**: [blurting it out & instantly regretting it]   
But they wouldn't be allowed back in any case. 

**Luthien**: [whirls]   
What do you mean? 

[everyone tries to avoid looking at her -- or each other, which complicates things] 

**Guilin**: [finally]   
No one taken by the forces of Morgoth is permitted to return to any of our   
Cities, Highness. 

**Luthien**:   
Why ever not? 

**Courier**:   
Well -- of course -- the Enemy's power -- to permanently turn people into agents   
of his side -- 

[rallying] 

Surely even you in Doriath know about that -- 

**Luthien**:   
We've heard about it, yes -- but what barbaric custom is this, and when did it start? 

**Guilin:**   
Not custom, Highness, but the Law -- yet one more consequence of the War, made   
in response to unhappy discoveries too often repeated. 

**Luthien**:   
But he's your ruler! 

**Guilin**:   
Not even Kings may be above their own decrees -- among our Kindred, at least. 

**Luthien**: [horrified]   
You mean Finrod wouldn't let prisoners-of-war come back? 

**Celebrimbor**: [grave]   
He had to; he had no choice. 

[she gives him a severe Look] 

--No legitimate choice, being ruler. Personal liking or distaste come not into it,   
my lady, -- only the good of all. 

[pause] 

**Luthien**:   
That's terrible. 

**Celebrimbor**:   
War is terrible. But the rest of us do not have the advantage of an impenetrable   
barrier surrounding our domains. 

[Luthien puts her hands to her temples, shaking her head] 

**Luthien**:   
--But what about your uncle? 

**Celebrimbor**:   
--My uncle? 

**Luthien**:   
Yes, Maglor, the one who was captured and had his hand cut off. 

**Celebrimbor**:   
That wasn't Maglor, that was Maedhros-- 

**Lord**:   
And he wasn't maimed by the Enemy -- it was during the res-- 

**Luthien**: [agitated]   
--That -- that isn't important, none of it, it -- that -- but he was caught   
and kept in Angband for months, right? That was the story we heard. You said   
none of you allowed prisoners to come back to your holdings. 

**Celebrimbor**:   
He -- he wasn't brainwashed, only punished. 

**Luthien**:   
How do you know? 

**Celebrimbor**:   
He -- couldn't have been. You would realize that if you met him. 

**Luthien**:   
You don't know that, though, for certain, if the only way you've found out before   
is when they turn out to be working for the Enemy, and that's why you've had to   
make a preemptive decision. You're just hoping you're right. 

**Lord**:   
But he's -- he was the High King, and the head of our House. 

[Luthien raises an eyebrow, says nothing] 

**Finduilas**:   
You don't understand-- 

**Luthien**: [fierce]   
What don't I understand? Explain it to me. Explain why you're willing to hide   
behind this rule of yours to justify not trying to save your own King, your own   
family and friends, and pretend that they don't exist any more! My cause is   
personal, nothing to do with my country's good one way or the other, but yours   
is both. Do you really believe that it's the better course, that it's even   
permissible -- not just for you, but for Finrod, to leave Nogrod leaderless,   
I can't believe that anyone would seriously think that, law or no law. 

[waits] 

**Bard**:   
Nothing is that simple, your Highness-- 

**Luthien**:   
You all seem to think it is. So tell me. 

**Finduilas**: [answering almost in spite of herself]   
It isn't that -- easy, you've no idea, you're not Noldor, you can't understand   
it and you don't want to-- 

**Luthien**:   
Because your father wants the throne for himself? I've heard that rumour. 

**Finduilas**:   
No! That's not-- 

[breaks off] 

**Luthien**:   
I doubted it rather, myself. What then? You're afraid of going to war again,   
and you've deluded yourselves into thinking that you can hide from it altogether   
here? We can't even do that in Doriath. 

**Lord**: [stiffly]   
No one who's spent her entire life hiding behind a maze should put the name of   
coward to another. 

**Gwindor**: [half-aside, ironic]   
Not entire. 

**Luthien**:   
I want to know -- Who's in charge here?

**Bard**: [wildly]   
You can't ask that, Your Highness-- 

**Luthien**:   
Why not? 

**Celebrimbor**: [into resulting silence]   
Because then they'd have to answer. 

**Guilin**: [severe]   
My lord, that is unseemly -- such mockery is unfitting the times-- 

[Celebrimbor bows, doesn't say anything] 

**Luthien**: [fierce]   
What, sir, would better fit these times? You hold the rank of Counsellor -- what   
counsel of rescue have you given, what cunning plans to save your dear lord and   
mine are underway, what forces of arms are readied, what spies sent forth to get   
the lie of the Enemy's lands before setting forth? 

**Guilin**:   
Highness, it is only to be expected that your ideallism and inexperience would   
make simple all matters of state-- 

**Luthien**: [with a cutting gesture of her hand]   
None. I know. I've guessed it. 

[she wheels, looking around at them all.] 

**Finduilas**: [pleading]   
. . . Cousin . . . 

**Luthien**: [voice shaking but not weak]   
--There is a darkness that fills this City for all the brightness of your   
illuminations and no torch, no lamp, no flame you can light will serve to brighten   
it while your Sun is gone from here -- you stay underground, where Elves were never   
made to stay, and the cloud of our Enemy's will darkens your minds without wind and   
light to disperse it, and you paint the sacred stars on your ceilings but you can't   
hear them, you're deaf and blind because Finrod was your vision, your senses, and   
without him you're lost -- can't you see it, can't you break free for an instant   
and think, act, do what has to be done?! 

[she pauses for breath, panting, and waits for response. No one will meet her eyes.] 

--Doomed. All of us. 

[looks around, with an expression of extreme concentration, remembers and fixes on one   
of the doors to the outside halls. Curtseying to Lord Guilin, but without any polite   
words of excuse, Luthien turns and sweeps out of the apartments. The strained silence   
persists.] 

**Gwindor**: [awkwardly, aside to Finduilas]   
Should I go after her? 

**Finduilas**: [tightly]   
--And then what? You won't get any thanks from her more than I have. Don't worry --   
she'll just press someone into guiding her around again. 

[tossing her head with an exasperated noise] 

I knew it was a mistake from the beginning. It's all very well for my father to talk,   
when all he does is hide from her. 

**Gwindor**:   
What's worse -- empty gestures, or nothing at all? 

**Celebrimbor**: [ironic]   
Or deception and interference -- surely worse than either, wouldn't you say? 

[Gwindor's expression locks down] 

Well, if I can't say it, who can? 

**Guilin**: [low voice]   
My lord, it would probably be for the best were you to depart now. 

**Celebrimbor**: [not angry]   
At once, sir, but I can do better than that: I'll remove hence with any of   
our people that are present and leave you in such peace as remains -- though,   
regrettably, nothing but a most limited removal. Gwin, I expect I'll see you at   
the pels? 

[Gwindor nods stiffly] 

Until then. My lords -- my lady -- 

[bows to the three of them. To the guests:] 

Gentles of my House, let us retire to our own devices, and not burden our hosts'   
graciousness further this evening. --Though phrased as a request, you'll note that   
was not a suggestion. I'd rather not be obliged to imitate my seniors' style, but   
if I must, I certainly shall. --Shall we? 

[gesturing to the assembled visitors, gathering up the ones from the following of   
Feanor. Over his shoulder:] 

By the by, you do realize that Her Highness is entirely correct --? We are,   
in fact, all Doomed. 

[The remaining company react silently to this parting shot in a frozen tableau.]   


* * *

  


* * *

SCENE XIX

**Gower**:   
--Conspiracy's full measure, half-unveiled,   
hath yet to be revealed; yet now assailed,   
shall out, to light -- yet to what avail? 

[Luthien is going quickly down a long spiral case, not stairs, but a very wide   
shallow ramp with an ornate railing that opens onto each floor.] 

**Luthien**:   
I know we came up this way, and it was three -- no four -- no it was three   
floors up, so that means this next one will be the landing, and then I'll just   
find another side door and hang on to Orodreth like a burr until he gives in. 

[goes into the hallway - but it's a circular gallery, going around the width   
of the spiral] 

This isn't right -- but I know I counted it right -- this is lke the Labyrinth   
at home, it doesn't make sense, I don't believe it -- Oh -- Maps! 

[The walls are painted with huge fully-rendered terrain shots in realistic color,   
divided by ornamental borders and with the lettering artistically integrated into   
the topography.] 

Seven rivers -- that's got to be Ossiriand -- yep, there's the name, so that's   
Amon Ereb, and that's Aros, and there's Esgalduin -- Oh, that has to be Hirilorn!   
Star and water, that's a lot of detail -- so where did I come? 

[she starts walking slowly around the perimeter, looking at the maps] 

Ah, right, there's Amon Rudh. So south from that . . . And that has to be the   
Gates -- Here we are -- unfortunately! so somewhere in here's where I was caught.   
I knew it was a long way, but it looks much longer here. So how far is it to   
the Fortress? 

[steps back to look up] 

Oh. 

[flatly] 

I hope this is not to scale. 

[looks around] 

Perhaps there's a more accurate one . . . ? 

[moves a little farther around the curve] 

That doesn't look so bad . . . Oh. That's got to be the ocean. I guess it is   
to scale after all. 

[runs her hands over her face -- when she looks up realizes that there are other   
people in the gallery as well.] 

I'm sorry -- I didn't mean to disturb you, I didn't know there was anyone here.   
I was looking for the Regent's quarters, but I think I got off on the wrong   
floor. 

[The others don't say anything. They look surprised and worried, at first, before   
recognizing her. The conspiratorial group consists of the Sage who tried to accost   
Luthien earlier in the Hall of Hours, and her companions there: a Scribe, the Royal   
Guard who refused to go, and likewise a Ranger.] 

I beg your pardon. Is something the matter? 

**Guard**: [bowing formally]   
Your Highness. 

**Sage**: [not at all formal]   
--Is something the matter, she asks! How nice to be so carefree as to be able   
to enjoy one's self at festive gatherings! 

**Luthien**:   
What are you talking about? 

**Sage**: [caustic]   
Of course, what else should one expect, from someone who thinks so highly of   
herself as to demand a Silmaril for her dowry! 

**Luthien**:   
What?! I never asked for the cursed thing -- I had nothing to do with that! 

**Sage**: [gesturing disdainfully at Luthien's dress]   
Of course not. You never sent anyone on a fatal quest, never started up the   
Curse again, never blithely accepted the ill-gotten gifts from those hands   
your thoughtlessness played into, forgetting the people you've destroyed by   
it -- oh no--! 

**Luthien**:   
What are you talking about? I came here to get help for Beren, and I'm still   
trying to get the help I was promised, and some kind of interference from   
the Enemy seems to be stopping the people in charge from actually doing anything. 

**Scribe**: [astounded]   
You really don'tknow? 

**Luthien**: [exasperated, runs her hand through her hair, scattering pins and jewels]   
How do I know? What is it that I'm supposed to know? 

**Sage**:   
She doesn't. She's no idea. 

[flings up her hands] 

**Luthien**: [tight smile]   
"She" is also losing her temper. 

**Sage**:   
You really pretend that you've no idea of the devastation you've caused, that   
you're really that naive as to believe everything you're told? That you've no   
notion whatsoever of the catastrophe you and your mortal boy have brought to   
our realm? 

**Luthien**:   
Did I ever say I believe "everything" I'm told? You're the first people willing   
to do anything besides offer me platitudes and meaningless comforts -- but if all   
you're going to do is make cutting-yet-incomprehensible remarks and melodramatic   
gestures, I really haven't the time to waste. 

[turns to go] 

**Sage**:   
Princess Luthien! 

[she looks back over her shoulder] 

You said you knew it when the Beoring was captured. 

[Luthien nods, her expression closed. Tautly:] 

--What's happened to them?

**Luthien**:   
I don't know. I can't scry, I'm not a Seer, I only know that Sauron has Beren   
because my mother said so, and how she knew that I don't know, and all I knew was   
that I felt like I've been told being shot feels like, that I was suddenly more   
frightened than before the First Battle, and it wouldn't go away. 

[looks at them for a long moment] 

--You know them. They're your family, your friends, your loved ones and what   
are you doing here instead of moving all Ea to help me get a task force out   
and underway-- 

[whirling and stalking down on them as her voice rises] 

What, for Nienna's sake, do you know that you're not telling me? How can I work   
with nothing but lies and silence to spin? 

[They stare back at her, guiltily. The Sage looks away, as does the Guard] 

**Scribe**: [whispering]   
Your Highness-- 

**Luthien**: [through clenched teeth]   
Tell. Me. 

**Sage**: [savagely]   
Civil war, that's what. Your fiance started the trouble with your insane demand. 

[the Guard starts to say something and stops] 

**Luthien**:   
Not mine, my father's, and this does not look like a place that's seen fighting,   
so what are you talking about? 

**Sage**:   
The sons of Feanor threatened it. And the King's honor wouldn't let him back out   
of this damned quest of yours. And so, thanks to you, those wretches have taken   
everything that King Felagund made and we've lost the best of our champions to   
your selfishness. 

**Luthien**: [icy]   
There's more, isn't there? Why didn't you put a stop to it? This is your City,   
your Kingdom, and you just let them take it away from you? They're two Elves,   
even if they are great warriors -- what can two do against thousands? 

**Ranger**:   
They invoked the Oath. 

**Luthien**:   
Oh yes, the famous Oath. The one that makes any means justifiable. So what?   
Let them. Then lock them up. 

**Guard**: [desperately]   
You don't un-- 

[stops at her Look] 

They have a large number of supporters here, and -- there's already been one   
Kinslaying, your Highness. 

**Luthien**:   
Then if you're not of that number -- what are you still doing here? If you're on   
Finrod's side, why aren't you with him? Where are the rest of you -- there must   
be others -- and why didn't you go too? 

**Scribe**:   
To Angband . . . ? 

[trails off] 

**Luthien**: [snorting]   
And yet -- you'll blame me, blame Beren, blame your King, blame your friends --   
all before you blame those whose fault it is -- my bloody-minded cousins -- and   
yourselves. 

[pause] 

**Sage**: [quietly]   
You don't seem at all surprised. 

**Luthien**:   
Surprised? At being betrayed and waylaid by my relatives? What in Arda's surprising   
about that? --Or that the sons of Feanor are just as bad as ever the rumours painted   
them way back when? Not that either. 

[narrowing her eyes] 

--So I take it that means it isn't, in fact, a public service on my part and an   
act of gratitude that I allow you tech people to keep my cloak. 

**Sage**: [checking in surprise]   
We don't have it. 

**Luthien**:   
Who's got it, if you're not working on it? 

**Scribe**:   
Lord Curufin. That's what my cousin, who's married to one of their Healers, said.   
No one can handle it, you know. They've given up trying to figure out how it   
works: whenever anyone touches it it makes them all sleepy and stupid. 

**Luthien**:   
Stupider, you mean. How can they think to rule a country they neither know nor   
care anything about? A throne's more than a fancy chair, to put here or there   
or forget about when you've something else to amuse yourself with. All they've   
done is destroy Finrod's power; they've done nothing to consolidate their own. 

**Sage**:   
On the contrary -- your Highness -- I would say that they have succeeded quite   
well at that. 

**Luthien**:   
No, they've not. It's only that no one cares enough to do anything about them,   
because you're all insane. 

**Scribe**:   
No, you don't understand the circumstances-- 

**Luthien**: [tossing her head]   
Yes, so everyone keeps saying. I suppose I could have said, "because you're all   
cowards," but that would have been redundant. 

**Guard**: [angry]   
Your Highness, that word is unacceptable-- 

**Luthien**:   
But true-- 

**Sage**: [impatiently]   
Quiet. The fact remains, Princess Luthien, that you are here, and the lords of   
Aglon-and-Himlad are here, and they are in power and you are not, and rumor has   
it they mean to use you as a pawn against your father, and what are you going   
to do about it? 

**Luthien**:   
Go find Beren. 

**Sage**:   
How? By yourself? 

**Luthien**:   
If I must. Which increasingly seems to be the case. 

**Sage**:   
You'll be killed. Or captured. 

**Luthien**:   
Possibly. 

**Sage**:   
Not possibly -- certainly. 

**Luthien**:   
Then your Foresight's better than mine. I'm only mostly sure it's hopeless.   
But I'm still going to try. 

[she glares at them one by one] 

Or you could come with me. We would have a better chance that way, right? It   
would be less hopeless. You-- 

[to the Sage] 

--could get me my cape, and I could hide our activites from observation,   
the Enemy's -- and the enemies', and -- 

[to the Scribe]   
you can get hold of the plans of the Fortress and any information in the archives   
about Sauron, about his weaknesses and whatever else might be relevant, while you   
two can get us gear and provisions and horses, and make yourselves useful if we end   
up having to fight. Though I hope we don't. I'm thinking I could disguise myself   
as a slave -- everyone keeps telling me I look like one as it is -- and sneak inside,   
but we really, really need good maps for that-- 

**Ranger**: [shaking his head in dismay]   
Your Highness -- you can't -- seriously mean to go against the Abhorred One and   
his wolves by yourself. 

**Luthien**:   
If you come with me then it won't be by myself, will it? 

**Guard**:   
But if -- if even His Majesty couldn't do it -- what chance have any of us? 

**Luthien**:   
Then at least we will have failed trying to accomplish something. Can you live   
with yourself, not having done that? --I can't. 

[pause] 

**Sage**: [slowly]   
If we meet you at your apartments it will be obvious that something is afoot and   
we will be prevented. 

**Luthien**:   
Where's a better place for it? Here? I can wait here. 

**Guard**:   
No, someone could come through at any time. That's why we come here, because   
it can look like a chance encounter on the causeway. 

**Luthien**:   
Somewhere near an outside door? Then we would be right there to go at once. 

**Scribe**: [shaking head]   
That would be too obvious. 

**Luthien**:   
Well, it can't be anywhere too far, because I'll get lost and have to ask   
directions. --Which would be rather unhelpful. 

**Ranger**:   
What about the Hall of Morning? It would be very hard to get lost going there,   
and no one will be there for almost two bells. 

**Sage**:   
Ah. That's a good idea. An excellent idea. 

**Luthien**:   
? ? ? 

**Sage**:   
It's right at the very top of the ramp. The gallery ceiling is a system of   
prisms and reflectors so that sunlight from the hills over us comes down   
through the crystals and illuminates the chambers. There's nothing to see   
at night, though, so it's deserted. 

**Luthien**:   
Very well. But be quick about it. We need as much time as possible, so that   
we can make as much time as we can before we're discovered. I don't know how   
well I'l be able to conceal us in broad daylight. 

**Scribe**:   
Are you certain you'll be able to extend the working to all of us? 

**Luthien**:   
Yes. --Well, reasonably certain. 

**Sage**:   
That does not inspire much confidence, your Highness. 

**Luthien**: [shrugs]   
I'm sorry for being so honest. Subterfuge doesn't come naturally to me, I have   
to work hard at it. Would you rather I tricked you into helping me? I'll try   
that, if you'd prefer. 

**Sage**: [shaking her head]   
I confess you're far from what I'd expected. 

**Luthien**:   
My parents would undoubtedly agree with you there. 

[giving them all a stern Look] 

Do not fail us. I will be waiting for you. 

[the conspirators part ways, leaving the Hall of Maps, some down the ramp,   
some up -- Luthien continues upwards to the top story]   


* * *

**SCENE XX.i [no dialogue]**

[Luthien's apartments. Huan gets up from beside the bed with the impatient heave   
of a bored dog and starts to go down the hallway, but stops in the solar and whines   
in distress, furrowing his brows, and circles around the room. He moves towards the   
outer door again, but can't bring himself to disobey and flops down in front of the   
fireplace, ears drooping, to wait for her.]   


* * *

**SCENE XX.ii**

**Gower**:   
--Hope doth flame brightly, yet   
absent further fuel, like straw outburneth swift, to let   
dark despair return, as the sun forever shall be set-- 

[The Hall of Morning. It's very dim -- only a bit of discreet artificial illumination,   
with some scattered white light coming through the prisms overhead from the not-quite-   
full moon. Luthien is pacing, arms tightly folded around her, but stops as the camera   
nears and sits down heavily on a bench with a tense expression.] 

**Luthien**: [decidedly, gloomy]   
--Not coming. 

[she shivers] 

That leaves me one option. Of course that only makes it more hopeless than   
before . . . But then, that isn't really so, is it? It always was hopeless --   
I was just wrong about it. As usual. 

[shivers again, rubbing her arms] 

Well, if I can't get my cape back, I can take whatever I need in exchange. It's   
worth at least a horse and some heavy clothes, I should think. 

[shaking her head] 

By rights I could take anything I wanted, for the purpose of rescue, but I've no   
idea what besides my cape would help. --Well, Finduilas' dress won't, that's for   
certain. 

[Starts to pull hers out of the sleeves, but stops when she hears something   
outside. Stands up at once, looking alert] 

**Curufin**:   
No, I really don't think we should send to any of the others until it's all -- 

[breaks off] 

--Who's there? 

**Luthien**:   
I am. 

[The sons of Feanor come the rest of the way around the curve of the ramp and stop   
when they see her, very surprised] 

**Curufin**: [surreptitiously taking his hand off of his knife]   
Your Highness? What are you doing here all alone in the dark? 

**Celegorm**:   
Are you lost? 

**Luthien**: [hiding her disappointment]   
Thinking, my lords. I like to do that, sometimes, up high. --One might ask   
the same of you--? 

**Celegorm**: [ignoring her question]   
I'm glad to see you've taken my advice and gotten some decent clothes for yourself.   
Much better. 

**Luthien**:   
There was an affair tonight that Finduilas talked me into going to. Hence all this. 

**Celegorm**:   
Well, good for you! Good to get out and enjoy yourself. 

[looks around for anyone else] 

--But surely they didn't throw you out, what? 

**Luthien**:   
No -- there were too many people there and it got rather overwhelming. 

**Curufin**:   
Was my son there, did you notice? 

**Luthien**:   
He was still there when I left, but I've no idea if he's there now, my lord. 

**Curufin**:   
Hmph. 

**Luthien**:   
My lord, I've been looking to ask you for -- for a long time, now: do you know   
when I will be able to get my cape back? 

[Throughout the following exchanges she watches them both closely for any sign of guile] 

**Curufin**: [shrugging apologetically]   
I'm afraid it's rather out of my hands at the moment, though I assure you I'll   
certainly check on the progress of the researchers for you. --But you don't really   
need it, anyway, correct? 

**Luthien**:   
Whether I need it or not is irrelevant: it's mine. 

**Curufin**: [carefully, as to a child]   
I don't believe that anyone has challenged that, your Highness. 

**Luthien**:   
But no one seems to know who's got it, or where it is, and it's extremely valuable   
to me, at least. 

**Curufin**:   
Nargothrond is a very large place, with a great number of people in it. 

**Luthien**:   
So I have noticed. How is that relevant? 

**Curufin**:   
I meant, my lady, that these things take time. 

**Luthien**:   
Ah. 

[glances around, worried and torn] 

Well, my lords, I suppose you would prefer to have the peace and quiet to   
yourselves, for your own conversation, so I'll bid you good evening and   
return to my own apartments now. 

**Celegorm**:   
Oh no, you can't go gettin' lost again -- we'll take you that way and make   
sure you're home safely. 

**Luthien**: [defensive]   
I'm not lost, I just don't know where everything is. --No one's ever taken me   
through it all and explained how it connects up, or drawn out maps for me. I   
remember some of the plans that Finrod showed us, but those weren't complete   
and changes have been made since then. 

**Curufin**:   
A lamentable oversight, I'm sure -- one of our people would be able to remember   
it all from the first, and so we forget that it might not be that easy for an   
outsider, and fail in our duty. 

**Luthien**: [aside]   
What a backhanded insult! 

[aloud] 

But I don't want to be an inconvenience to you . . . 

**Curufin**:   
Not at all, my lady. 

[bows] 

**Luthien**: [doubtfully]   
Well, if it isn't any trouble-- 

**Celegorm**:   
Good! That's settled. 

[takes her arm and leads her down the circular causeway] 

Impressive place, what? But you need to see it properly in the morning. Perhaps   
you'd like to come up and see it tomorrow? 

[Curufin looks around suspiciously one more time to make sure no one else is about] 

**Curufin**: [catching up to them]   
Of course it's nothing to compare with Formenos, but for Middle-earth Nargothrond   
isn't bad at all. --Not that it couldn't stand improvement. 

**Luthien**:   
That's true of most things, though, isn't it? 

[aside] 

And this is one that could have gone far worse. There's still a chance. 

[aloud]   
So would you be so kind as to show me how the layout of the City goes? And   
perhaps I'll even be able to remember it, with your capable instruction? Then   
I'll be able to feel a bit more at home here. 

**Celegorm**:   
Well, this, right here's the southernmost vertical shaft that goes all the way   
through all the levels-- 

**Curufin**:   
No, there's one more farther south than this, you're forgetting about. 

**Celegorm**:   
But that's only an air-shaft, Cur, not a proper access . . . 

[they go out of sight, the sons of Feanor correcting each other. No one arrives   
to rendezvous with Luthien as the scene fades to darkness] 

* * *

**SCENE XXI**

**Gower**:   
Small waves and winds may mark a passing gust, soon oe'r;   
--or signify the coming of a gale-wind's flood and roar-- 

[The Regent's office. Orodreth is standing with hands clasped behind his back, listening   
to Gwindor, and looking at a painting over the fireplace showing a seascape with sunset   
castle (which is probably Barad Nimras, not imaginary view. )] 

**Orodreth**:   
So she knows. 

**Gwindor**:   
I'm afraid so, sir. 

**Orodreth**:   
Well. In a way, it's a relief, I must confess. --Do you know what she means to do? 

**Gwindor**:   
I -- couldn't say. 

**Orodreth**:   
I'm not asking you to betray any confidences. 

**Gwindor**:   
Truly, sir, I don't. I -- my guess is that she would take independent action,   
again. But I don't think it would be feasible, because of their orders, and their   
partisans among the Guard-- 

[hopeful] 

--unless you were to intervene, sir. 

**Orodreth**:   
You know I can't do that. 

**Gwindor**: [lightly]   
You know, this time they didn't even have to raise a hand to profit by others' work.   
Well, if guile and coercion are what it takes to rule, along with ruthlessness, then   
they're as fit to be sovereigns as the Enemy himself. 

[Orodreth gives him a sidelong glance, and he reddens] 

Sorry, sir -- I meant no disrespect. 

**Orodreth**:   
You did. But that's all right. 

[sighs] 

Whatever one may truly say about a somewhat casual and proprietary attitude evinced   
towards their own followers, it's true that during the chaos of the battle their   
primary concern was to effect the safe retreat of the greatest number of their people,   
with little regard for the salvage of property and possession. 

[musing] 

--Of course if your attitude towards property is that you can always acquire   
more of it from someone else, so long as you have a sword, then that isn't   
perhaps so creditable after all... 

[turns to face Gwindor] 

Stay attentive. Let me know what you hear, both what's reported and -- what isn't. 

**Gwindor**:   
Yes, my lord. --There's far more of the latter than the former, I'm afraid. 

**Orodreth**:   
Do your best. It isn't your fault that you're resented -- I had to put someone   
in charge, Gwin, and I'm sorry it was you. 

**Gwindor**:   
It isn't that, sir -- not only that. It's also that there are things I don't know   
to ask, or that I'm expected to understand, that Intelligence doesn't even think   
to tell me because I should already know. --Quite apart from the fact that no one   
trusts anyone else these days. 

**Orodreth**: [grim smile]   
How can they, when we cannot even trust ourselves? 

[Gwindor bows and leaves, wearing a frown pretty much permanent now] 

* * *

**SCENE XXII**

**Gower**:   
Masking disappointment with cheerful mien,   
Tinuviel pursues gleam of hope half-seen. 

[The Great Solar. Luthien -- back to her usual outfit -- comes in with Huan, to   
the not-surprising lull in conversation. Although she has the red gown folded up   
in a parcel in her hands, she keeps glancing around even after she's spotted   
Finduilas, playing with a couple of other luthenists. No luck, however -- though   
there is a suspicious flurry by one of the farther doors, as if someone has just   
dashed out upon spotting her.] 

**Luthien**: [brightly]   
Here's your dress, cousin. Thank you for the loan. Oh, and I clipped all the   
hair ornaments I could find into the neck of the shift. I'm afraid some of   
them must have come out. 

**Finduilas**: [wary]   
Just -- put it there, please. On that hassock. 

[pause] 

You could have had someone bring it to our House, you know. 

**Luthien**:   
Oh. You're right, I could have. Should I do that instead? 

**Finduilas**: [rolling her eyes]   
It doesn't matter now. Just -- just leave it there, I'll take care of it. 

[pause] 

I can't believe you didn't wear the shoes. 

**Luthien**:   
They didn't fit. 

**Finduilas**:   
And you didn't say anything? 

**Luthien**: [shrugs]   
It didn't matter, with a floor length skirt. --Besides, then I'd have been even taller. 

[another pause, awkward for Finduilas at least, expectant for Luthien] 

**Finduilas**: [finally]   
Where are you going? 

**Luthien**:   
Just right here, by that clock thing. 

**Finduilas**:   
It isn't working -- he's got it apart again. 

**Luthien**: [bland]   
Oh, is that why he's got all those bits of crystal and wire on the floor around   
it? --Come on, milord, let's go thank Lord Celebrimbor for the fountain. 

[She tugs Huan's collar and they cross over to the Chronometer; Finduilas,   
chagrinned, tries to ignore her, but keeps on paying attention even while she's   
playing. Luthien & Huan come up and sit beside Celebrimbor, flanking him -- he   
looks up and gives her a questioning look but doesn't open conversation] 

**Luthien**: [low conversational tone]   
Thank you for setting that up for me. It's helped. If I said that I thought   
I was being followed today, what would you say to that? 

**Celebrimbor**:   
That you were being paranoid-- 

[her expression darkens] 

--but not necessarily incorrect. 

[Luthien nods slowly] 

**Luthien**:   
I don't suppose you can tell me who. Or why. 

**Celebrimbor**: [scanning the crowd, shakes his head]   
--Too many possibilities. 

[she looks disappointed but not surprised] 

**Luthien**:   
I need to ask you something -- about last night. This one you can answer. 

[Celebrimbor nods warily in encouragement] 

What did you mean by a "master-word"? Is it like a key? Something to close or   
open the gates? 

**Celebrimbor**:   
The Master Word . . . it's not a "word" of course, but a Word in the larger   
sense, a saying of power and binding words -- or rather, in this case, of   
unbinding. A key, all right, but not merely to the gates of a place. I've   
never seen one used -- never actually heard of one being employed, save in   
miniature for experimentation, but -- in theory -- it works by reversal,   
taking the energies of place that are trapped within each stone, indeed any   
object raised up and set in place, and using that very power to force the   
stones and structural elements apart . . . 

[rapt in speculative imagination] 

It should -- as I was taught -- unbind every stone one from the other, in the   
order of their setting, last to first, so that the structure is unfolded,   
outwards, opening slowly like an enormous flower, like a rose or a water lily,   
or more like a snowfall, perhaps, if a snowfall were like a fountain of stone   
. . . I'd love to see it, it would be spectacular beyond description.   
--But a great waste and a shame, of course. 

[this last does not sound quite as sincere as what preceded it] 

**Luthien**   
Is there a Master Word for Nargothrond? 

**Celebrimbor**: [understanding perfectly what she's getting at]   
Not that way. Nargothrond is built upon a natural system of caverns, not built up   
lfrom the ground. Maker's Words would have been used -- indeed, are, as work still   
goes on -- to aid in the process, but it is principally cosmetic, or at least not   
integral, to the city's foundation. 

**Luthien**:   
But not all of it is carved in one piece: I know that there are hallways that are   
not at all natural, and which aren't merely facings. Even the gate pillars are   
partly added to the living rock. 

**Celebrimbor**: [shaking head, not unsympathetically]   
It wouldn't work. The Gates are their own Working entirely. All that invoking   
a Maker's Word here would accomplish would be massive destruction and damage,   
but no outside access, I'm almost entirely certain. 

**Luthien**:   
Maker's Words -- but what about the Master Word? 

**Celebrimbor**:   
Even if there was one, and even if you had it, you couldn't use it. It would   
require an almost unimaginable amount of power to enforce it. It isn't a matter   
of merely invoking it, but of Unworking, -- you don't have to understand how it   
works, according to the theory, but you have to will it, without any hesitation   
or distraction, and it does help to know what you're doing as well. I would be   
very reluctant to attempt such a thing, on such a scale. 

**Luthien**:   
But the Master Word would open the Gates as well? It opens everything within   
its compass, you said. And if it took infinite power to wield it, there would be   
no point to it, would there, so while it shouldn't be easy, for obvious reasons,   
it shouldn't be impossible either . . . ? 

**Celebrimbor**:   
Yes. But it's no good. Assuming that there is one, because this was never intended   
to be a garrison at all, only two people would know it, so far as I know, and I'm   
neither of them. Not that either of us two would ever countenance such a deed,   
of course . . . 

**Luthien**:   
Who? Finrod of course, and . . . Orodreth? Being Regent? 

**Celebrimbor**:   
So indeed would I assume. 

[Finduilas, catching the relevant word in the conversation, sets her lute down   
and comes over] 

**Luthien: **[intense]   
I need to get out of here. 

**Finduilas:**   
--What about my father? 

**Luthien**: [innocent]   
I was just remarking that he's the Regent. 

**Finduilas**:   
Everybody knows. People are going to think you really are crazy, Luthien. 

**Luthien**: [raises her hands]   
It isn't as though I can do anything about that. 

[gets up] 

**Finduilas**:   
What are you doing now? 

**Luthien**: [mildly]   
Going for a walk along the ways Lord Curufin and his brother mapped out for me   
so that I don't get lost again. Hopefully. But I've got Huan, so I can just   
follow him back if I do. 

[To Celebrimbor, who is frowning over some of the Chronometer's figures] 

--Don't worry about getting it exactly right and finishing it. It's more like   
the world if you don't. 

[she drifts off again, followed by the Hound. Celebrimbor frowns] 

**Celebrimbor**:   
How did she know that was what I was thinking? I never mentioned the design   
to her at all. 

**Finduilas**: [shaking her head]   
Well. Mortals say madness and prophecy go together. Perhaps it's true. 

[they look at each other, both daring the other to say something about prior events.   
Both decline, however]   


* * *

**SCENE XXIII.i**

**Gower**:   
--Striving to ordain in plots and scheming dark,   
both strong and subtle eke shall miss their mark-- 

[The royal apartments -- Celegorm is trying out several different bows and equipment   
cases. Curufin is reading.] 

**Celegorm**: [dissatisfied]   
Eh, I think I like my own better. This one's too long, this one's not springy enough,   
and the grip's all wrong for me on the other one. Which is a real pity, because it's   
got a simply beautiful case -- but it wouldn't do to break up the set. --Maybe I'll   
keep the quiver though; I really do like the closures on it, and it hangs well. 

**Curufin**:   
You talking to me or yourself, Cel? 

**Celegorm**:   
Oh, both. --Too bad it's so wet out, I'd like to go for a ride but no chance of   
raising a decent chase, what? 

**Curufin**: [absently]   
Probably. Why don't you go and work on cheering up Her Highness some more? You   
seemed to get along well with her last night. She actually smiled a few times   
that I saw. 

**Celegorm**:   
Yes. --But I'm worried about her, wandering like that. Sometimes she seems all   
there, and sometimes she really doesn't. I mean, what's to stop her from taking   
off in another crazy fit? Apparently she made some kind of scene at Finduilas'   
party, embarrassed herself and went off in a tizzy, though I didn't hear exactly   
what it was all in aid of. 

**Curufin**:   
Well, I doubt that there's much in the way of elegant manners in Thingol's backwoods   
palace. It wouldn't be hard to make a social gaffe, even if she was paying attention. 

**Celegorm**: [frowning more]   
And then -- and she would have been all right, if no one had stopped her, because   
Huan was with her -- but she was drifting around the water-gates, and had no clear   
idea of what she was doing down there when the guards asked her. I shudder to think   
what might've become of her, if she'd slipped out and Huan hadn't been along to   
bring her back! 

**Curufin**: [sighing]   
Yes, I heard. It's taken care of -- I spoke to the staff and arranged that she's   
to be accompanied at all times about the City. Honor guard, you know. She is a   
Princess, after all, and should be treated with all due respect. No need to worry   
about our little bird taking flight into the forest again. 

**Celegorm**:   
You don't suppose-- 

[A knocking at the outer door. Irritably:] 

--What now? 

**Attendant**:   
Sirs, someone from the Regent's office is here with -- a request . . . ? 

[Orodreth's Aide comes in and tries to hand Celegorm several sheets of parchment; the   
elder son of Feanor, weighing quivers, gestures to give it to the younger, which the   
Aide does, with every sign of distaste] 

**Aide**:   
Milords. My master requests that you peruse these and return the answers to him   
as promptly as you possibly can without sacrificng accuracy. Both accuracy and   
speed are of the utmost importance. Good day. 

[With the shallowest bow possible he leaves; Curufin looks at the pages and snorts] 

**Curufin**:   
--Is this some kind of joke? He demands "The amount of resources consumed by your   
Household for the past three winters, with projected use for this coming season,   
as itemized on the accompanying lists, titled and ruled for your convenience"   
--Does the fool have nothing better to do than harrass us with paperwork? 

[He crumples them up and flings them into the fireplace.] 

What were you saying, there? 

**Celegorm**: [shakes his head]   
Nothing. Just -- silly notion. Never mind. Hey, do you think if I kept this quiver   
you could make a matching bowcase to go with it?   


* * *

**XXIII.ii**

[Luthien's chamber. She is washing her face in the fountain, and is still crying   
a little. Huan is watching her with his head on one side ] 

**Luthien**:   
I suppose that was stupid of me. I should have guessed there'd be sentries on duty   
even at the river, even if it is inside the City -- it's still a gate. I'm going   
to have to think this through more carefully. 

[suddenly struck] 

--I shouldn't have involved you, either. I didn't even think of that -- but you   
have to obey your master, don't you? This is just as bad as it was at home. Only   
he wouldn't kill you for helping me, would he? You're immortal, aren't you? That's   
what he said when he was telling me all about you. Except for the Prophecy. 

**Huan**: [whining]   
[thumps tail twice] 

**Luthien**:   
But you didn't bark at the guards or anything when I was trying to find the   
controls for the wicket. Thank you. 

[shaking her head] 

I wonder how long it will be, before I really do go crazy here? Not long, I'm   
betting. 

[sighs] 

All right, starting from scratch -- what have I got to work with now? 

* * *

**SCENE XXIV**

**Gower**:   
None hath guessed how, desperate, Tinuviel should try   
E'en without her work of power, from Nargothrond to fly -- 

[The royal apartments -- Curufin is working with a largish device on the central   
table, something made of polished metal that is hinged in many different ways and   
seemes to be composed equally of flat plates and curved bars -- it looks a little   
like vines growing over a pile of sheer-plane rock, in its current folded state.   
Celegorm enters; his brother only nods absently at him.] 

**Celegorm**: [abrupt]   
We have to do something else. She nearly walked out of here. Seems I was wrong. 

**Curufin**: [suddenly attentive]   
What about the guards? 

**Celegorm**:   
She called them in to look at her fireplace, said it was smokin' and could they   
see if the system was jammed up -- and while they were working it over she walked   
out right behind them. 

**Curufin**: [ominously]   
I'll have their names for that -- how could they be so unobservant, they're   
guards, dammit! 

**Celegorm**: [shrugs, half-admiringly]   
They swore that she was standing there right next to them, making admiring noises   
all the while. Turns out it was jammed -- only she'd done it herself -- bent it   
all up so it took a third of a bell to fix it. By that point she was already down   
in the stables, where she'd manage to convince everyone that she was just another   
kid looking after the horses -- only reason it didn't work is that the horses   
didn't recognize her and got all jumpy. 

**Curufin**: [looking at the closed, locked casket on a small table by itself]   
And no one saw her in the halls? 

**Celegorm**:   
Oh, they saw her all right -- they just had this idea that she was "someone   
who was supposed to be there doing something" no matter where she was. So --   
question is -- what are we going to do about it? Just a bunch of little illusions,   
and a few folded baffles -- kids' tricks -- but all together it adds up to --   
no bird in our hands. Nearly. 

**Curufin**: [tapping his lips]   
If she can work that kind of game upon that many people, sequentially and at once,   
then we need something that cannot be fooled. I wouldn't rely on any kind of a   
mechanical lock at all -- too easy to fox, and too easy to make it look fixed --   
and I wouldn't rely on any lock alone, but in conjunction with a redoubled guard,   
I would think that a name-boundary set for her only should do the trick. You want   
to do it, or shall I? 

**Celegorm**:   
No, that's all right, I thought that's what you'd say but I wanted your input   
first. I'll go take care of it right now. --What is that? 

**Curufin**:   
I don't know . . . yet. Where is she? It might be awkward -- if you had to explain. 

**Celegorm**: [smiles broadly]   
I sicced her on Orodreth -- you know how he can't stop talking when he gets   
nervous. I figure they're good for another bell at least. 

**Curufin**: [looking up in alarm]   
You're not worried about what he might say to her? 

**Celegorm**: [snorts]   
Him? He's not going to say anything that will make his job any harder. And the   
more nervous he is the less he actually says in all those words. I'm not worried   
-- you think he wants to explain his role in the affair to her? 

**Curufin**: [relaxing]   
True. --Aha -- that's how that goes -- 

[unfolds the device into a huge openwork array] 

--But what is it? 

**Celegorm**:   
Daft! 

[shaking his head, he hurries off to set up the security system on Luthien's apartments]   


* * *

**SCENE XXV.i**

**Gower**:   
--'Gainst Time's all-consuming power, pleads   
Beauty in vain; likewise fair Justice, where the seeds   
of rivalry in rank Discontent hath flowered, and needs   
must go begging -- finding Law and Rule but broken reeds. 

[The Regent's office. Orodreth is seated behind his desk, looking rather at bay   
himself, but not saying anything. Luthien is standing in front of him, arms akimbo,   
frowning; Huan is standing with her, looking a bit at a loss; he circles halfway   
around and lies down in front of the fireplace, muzzle on paws] 

**Luthien**:   
You've been avoiding me, cousin. 

[He raises his eyebrows but doesn't bother denying it.] 

--All that wierd formality and distant behavior, when I arrived, as if you'd never   
gone on hikes with us or spent the night dancing at Menegroth, and I thought you   
were just worried, and not knowing how to act in your new role, and trying to be   
proper about it -- But then I recognized it. I might have sooner, if you'd not   
hid from me so well, but eventually I remembered where I'd seen it before. 

[narrowed Look] 

In everyone who was ordered to look after my wants and needs whilst I was under   
house-arrest. It's guilt. Not quite as bad as Daeron's, but -- very near to it. 

[sharply] 

Why? 

[he doesn't answer -- she leans over the desk, fiercely:] 

--Level with me, Orodreth. 

[He gives a sudden nervous laugh, and she glares at him] 

**Orodreth**: [apologetic]   
I'm sorry. It's just so -- so very unexpected, to hear mortal expressions like   
that, coming out of your mouth. Please forgive my levity. 

**Luthien**: [severe]   
There is nothing remotely amusing about our situation. 

**Orodreth**: [completely somber]   
No. 

[she looks at him expectantly, but he keeps looking at her without saying anything] 

**Luthien**: [sighing, runs her hand through her hair]   
--Shall I spin this tale for you, then, and warp it too, I dare say, and leave   
the gaps and doublings for you to fix instead? It might be faster, at this rate.   
--Not that time matters to you, of course. 

**Orodreth**: [upset]   
--Luthien-- 

**Luthien**: [ignoring]   
The only question is, where do I start? How long ago shall I begin? Don't worry,   
I'm not going to start at the Song -- but I do wonder how far back your part in   
this strain goes, and was it a trio, or merely a resting measure? If it was the   
former, they seem to have written your part out rather definitely as well-- 

[He understands what she's getting at and looks shocked, shaking his head in denial] 

So you weren't part of it in advance. Not knowingly, at least. --That's something. 

[Finally she takes the chair placed for her, not as a supplicant but as if she were   
conducting the interview by rights. With her head on one side, slowly (not hesitantly   
though):] 

I think -- this discord begins in the Sudden Flame, then -- but only as the   
resumption of a theme long played. I remember a dinner-table story -- as should   
you, since you told it -- about swords being drawn on family members way before   
Morgoth resumed his old tune. --How long in any case, would it have been, would   
you like to bet, before one or another began to rehearse the burden of "We are   
the eldest, it should all be ours"--? 

[pause] 

And once again many voices joined in the chorus -- but how many, or how few, were   
raised against them this time? 

[Orodreth looks away -- but has to meet her eyes again. Huan, on the floor, keeps   
looking anxiously from one to the other of them, not taking his head off of his paws.] 

* * *

**SCENE XXV.ii [no dialogue]**

[The halls outside the royal apartments: the Sage is reading in an alcove far down   
the corridor, but at just enough of an angle to allow visibility of the doors from   
where she's sitting. Nervously she takes a small casket out of her sleeve, as if   
checking to make sure it's still there, and then tucks it into the stack of books   
on her lap. After a moment she takes it out and puts it back into her sleeve again.] 

[Curufin leaves the chambers with a small entourage; the Sage gets up and slowly   
approaches the door after they're out of sight. We see her engaging in a conversation   
with the guards at the door, explaining something about the manuscripts, and they   
gesture her to bring them inside -- but she hesitates, and after a brief pause hands   
them over instead and takes off.] 

[Out of sight around the hallway she stops suddenly and slams back against the wall,   
eyes closed, biting her lip and clenching her hands -- she takes the box out,   
looks back over her shoulder, torn -- and puts it away again.] 

* * *

**SCENE XXV.iii**

[The Regent's office. Luthien is pacing again, her arms folded, and halts leaning   
against the mantlepiece as the scene opens. Orodreth is looking at her anxiously] 

**Luthien**:   
Well. That was worse than I expected. --Which I should have expected. What's   
the best way to get into the castle unobserved? Are there any secret tunnels   
through those caves along the cliffs? Or is that too obvious? Probably. 

**Orodreth**:   
I'm afraid I don't understand what you're getting at. 

**Luthien**:   
If I can't get proper help, if you won't go openly against the Fortress, then   
I've got to try to infiltrate by stealth and trick my way in to get the keys   
to the dungeons. Since that was your base of operations, I'm assuming you know   
all the ins and outs of it, and I need to know everything I can so as to   
minimize the likelihood of actually getting caught while I'm pretending to   
be a prisoner there. 

**Orodreth**: [aghast]   
You're -- Luthien, you're insane. 

**Luthien**:   
No, just desperate. There's a difference. 

**Orodreth**: [horrified laughter]   
You -- no, you're not being rational. You cannot just trick your way in and   
walk through the Enemy's defenses as though you were -- were-- 

**Luthien**: [raising an eyebrow]   
Bluffing my way through here? Through Doriath? 

**Orodreth**: [rallying]   
Walking through a place you already know, to some degree, where everything is   
somewhat familiar, at least, as opposed to a completely-unknown territory full   
of vigilant hostile soldiery and protected by very-real Enemy magic, without any   
sort of defenses to assist you? It isn't possible. 

**Luthien**:   
You could help me get my working back. 

**Orodreth**:   
Frankly, the mere fact that you're talking about trying to challenge Sauron on   
your own is enough to guarantee that I would never countenance returning your   
cloak to you, if I could be sure that that would be enough to dissuade you from   
this folly. 

**Luthien**: [flinging up her hands]   
Obviously it would make it much easier. But if I don't have it -- well, if   
I hadn't had to make it to escape, then I wouldn't have it now either, and I   
wouldn't know about it so I wouldn't miss it, and I'd still have to do the same   
thing. So it doesn't really make any difference, unless I let it, I'd say. 

[The Regent looks bemused at this rapid assessment. Huan whines quietly.] 

**Orodreth**:   
Luthien. Believe me. I wish I could have your-- 

**Luthien**: [interrupts]   
--Don't say "naive"-- 

[brief pause] 

**Orodreth**:   
--optimism. But there is nothing -- nothing -- about this plan of yours that   
warrants it. If it can even be called a plan. You're assuming that you will be   
able to even think clearly and react accordingly when you get there, and you're   
not taking into account at all the debilitating effects of the Necromancer's   
aura. It -- it generates a kind of solid, physical, terror that replaces the air   
itself around him. 

**Luthien**:   
Well, obviously it's going to be frightening going into hostile territory. That   
only stands to reason. 

**Orodreth**:   
This is entirely another matter. It -- it is as far beyond ordinary, rational   
apprehension of danger as that is beyond the mild concern one might feel that   
bad weather might spoil a planned festival. It -- Can you imagine a sound as   
loud as the Valaroma, which instead of making your heart leap, fills you with   
the same sort of awe and agitation but with horror, not gladness? Or a wind that   
fills you with utter nausea, as if it came from a battlefield, but there's neither   
sound nor smell, only the feeling of a black cloud full of spikes surrounding you,   
on all sides, wherever you turn? --That's what Sauron's power is like, and nothing   
like it at all -- for that's nothing but paltry, empty words -- as little to do   
with the real thing as saying the word "ice" should have-- 

[silence] 

**Luthien**: [earnest]   
I live with that every single day. Every night, every hour, every heartbeat,   
that's the way it is, exactly what you're describing. I simply have to get up   
and keep going. Otherwise I'd be curled in a corner somewhere, shaking. But I   
can't let myself -- I have to keep hoping. --And trying. 

**Orodreth**: [aside]   
The courage of ignorance . . . I, too, possessed that, once-- 

**Luthien**:   
Besides, it isn't as though I'm completely oblivious, the way you make out.   
I did pay attention when Beren was telling me about his War. Sauron isn't   
completely invincible, Beren got him once, and tricked his minions until   
he had to give up. 

**Orodreth**: [bemused]   
That -- isn't -- what I'd understood of it-- 

**Luthien**: [impatient gesture]   
He had to bring in massive numbers of troops and start burning down all of   
Dorthonion. That isn't invincible, omniscient power, that's just brute force;   
he couldn't win fairly. So -- he has weaknesses. The trick is using them. And   
finding them, of course. 

[silence. Orodreth sighs.] 

--Can you order my escorts to -- be conveniently distracted? Or are they all   
partisans of the Feanorions? 

**Orodreth**: [shaking his head]   
Some are, some not. Regardless of which I cannot give such an order, implicitly   
or otherwise. Whatsoever direct action I should take, should inevitably be   
reported upon. The consequences -- I cannot accept them. I have to protect   
what I can. 

**Luthien**: [snorts]   
They really have you outnumbered, don't they? Just the two of them, against   
all of Nargothrond, saying "War!" and it might as well be the whole horde of   
Angband, the way you don't dare stand up to them. 

**Orodreth**: [grim]   
--Not just two. And you weren't at Alqualonde. You weren't at the Breaking of   
the Leaguer. You do not know what you are talking about, Luthien. War is not   
something from a song or a story. 

[silence] 

**Luthien**:   
What do you recommend? That I close my heart and soul and mind to truth and   
pretend I never knew otherwise? Let Beren die, let his name disappear from   
the world and live in the frivolity of the moment the way my parents want   
me to -- in spite of my loss -- the way you seem to be able to do? 

**Orodreth**: [agonized]   
Luthien-- 

**Luthien**:   
Because I can't. I will not stop, not having come so far, not if it kills me,   
or worse. With help or without. 

**Orodreth**:   
What are you going to undertake to do now? 

**Luthien**: [shakes head]   
No. Better for both of us if you don't ask that. 

**Orodreth**: [formal again]   
I am most terribly sorry I can't help you, my lady-- 

**Luthien**: [brittle smile]   
So am I. 

[she gathers up her mantle around her, defiantly, and sweeps past the desk towards   
the door -- then stops, and looks back at him with a baffled, pitying expression] 

--What was it? 

[as he looks blank] 

How did he fail you? --Was it because of Angrod and Aegnor? Did you blame him   
for sending them up there, or was it something else in the War? 

**Orodreth**: [pale]   
I -- I don't understand what you're trying to convey-- 

[she shakes her head with a wry expession] 

**Luthien**:   
Yes, you do. Or you'd not try to deny it. 

[long pause. Orodreth lowers his eyes] 

**Orodreth**: [whispering]   
You're an only child, cousin. You haven't the experience to -- to understand --   
what it was like -- being the last in the family -- and then 'Tariel, bracketed   
between those two, only ever known as someone else's brother -- with nothing   
deliberate in it at all, only that none could help following them, doing what   
they suggested, wanting to be noticed by them, and not noticing one at all --   
and not being able to help the same, either-- 

**Luthien**: [sad]   
No? --Are you sure you weren't one of the ones who listened to Melkor before   
he was Morgoth, too? 

**Orodreth**:   
--Ah-- 

[his defiance falls apart and he puts his head down on his hands, stricken. Luthien   
looks at him for a few seconds in frustration; then sits on the edge of the desk,   
rubbing his shoulders, her expression sympathetic] 

**Luthien**:   
I'm sorry, Orodreth, I really am. --But I can't do anything for your pain, and   
I can't grant you pardon, because you won't heed my advice, and there's no other   
way out of this. No one is going to come rescue us this time. No army out of   
Ossiriand, no Sun out of the West -- we're it. 

[she stands and goes out, leaving him there, while Huan hastily scrambles up and   
trots out after her]   


* * *

**SCENE XXVI**

**Gower**:   
--Hot-wielded in needful time, words   
may cross purposes no less than swords-- 

[Luthien's suite -- she is sitting on the floor looking up at Huan and talking to him,   
and does not apparently notice when Finduilas walks in behind her, having tapped a few   
times on the open panel but not gotten an answer] 

**Luthien**:   
So then I told him that I could accept that that was how he felt, but I couldn't   
really see where he was coming from at all, and that since he couldn't explain it   
any better himself he could hardly expect me to understand it either. And then   
I asked him -- again -- why he didn't just come up and say something to us, or   
to me, privately, even, and what was up with the lurking off in the distance and   
watching us from hillsides like some kind of spy, and he got all twitchy again.   
--At that point I just gave up because it was clear that I wasn't going to get an   
answer because he didn't have one, and that my guess was as good as his. 

[sighs] 

Which so far as I can tell comes down to a combination of pride and embarrassment --   
though actually that's the same thing, really -- too proud to admit that he hadn't   
been able to see me as a grown-up and a person in my own right, not just "Elu and   
Melian's little girl," until someone else from outside had first, and then too   
embarrassed to admit that he'd spied on us-- 

[biting] 

and so logically he just kept doing it, and moping about hoping someone would notice   
and solve his problem for him. --Which happened -- 

**Finduilas**: [worried]   
Luthien, what are you doing? 

**Luthien**: [looking up but not getting up]   
Explaining about Daeron to Huan. 

**Finduilas**: [remaining standing]   
--Why? 

**Luthien**:   
Because he wanted to know. 

**Finduilas**:   
But -- he's a Hound! 

**Luthien**: [narrow look]   
If you really think he's just a dog, and no more, then you're blinder than   
I thought. 

**Finduilas**:   
Well, obviously he's different -- but he's still an animal, Luthien. 

**Luthien**: [staring hard]   
That's funny, I don't see anything wrong with your eyes. 

**Finduilas**: [ignoring this]   
If you need to talk to someone, there are people here who can help you. I'm here. 

**Luthien**:   
But I don't want to talk to you. If I have to talk to anyone in this horrible   
place, I'd rather talk to Huan. 

**Finduilas**: [exasperated]   
Luthien, this is not a horrible place. You make it sound like Angband or   
Dungortheb! 

**Luthien**:   
Even if I didn't need to save Beren I couldn't stay here. It's making me   
physically ill. 

**Finduilas**: [patient but strained]   
No, you're making yourself sick with your unreasonable behavior. 

**Luthien**:   
I need to get out of here. I'm suffocating! I've never been underground this   
long in my life! 

**Finduilas**: [a bit patronizing]   
Oh, you wouldn't really rather be outside in the cold and the wet. It's   
practically Winter. 

**Luthien**:   
Before I was brought here I'd been living in trees for the past month. They're   
much better when you can get out of them, by the way. And my cape works perfectly   
well at keeping the rain off me. --I really don't understand why you expect me   
to be grateful for being kept in a beautiful prison rather than a gloomy one. At   
least in a dungeon there's no pretense of hospitality, and no one expects anything   
of the prisoner but escape! 

**Finduilas**: [sighs]   
You're not a prisoner-- 

**Luthien**: [interrupting]   
No? Then I can go? All right then, let's-- 

**Finduilas**:   
Don't be tiresome -- you know that's impossible. You can't just leave-- 

**Luthien**: [interrupting]   
That would, I'd say, be the exact definition of a prisoner. 

**Finduilas**: [reaching down to touch her shoulder]   
It's for your own good -- we're simply concerned for your safety, cousin. 

[Luthien impatiently shakes her off] 

**Luthien**: [very slowly and forcefully.]   
I've heard that one before. 

**Finduilas**:   
Well, it's true, you-- 

**Luthien**: [interrupting]   
Cousin, if your fiance was taken prisoner by the Enemy and you knew it, would   
you just stay here making bowls and earrings in your studio? Or would you take   
your torches and your chemicals and your iron rods and do whatever you could   
with what you had? 

[Finduilas laughs nervously] 

Well? 

**Finduilas**:   
Don't be silly, Luthien. 

**Luthien**:   
Silly? You mean you wouldn't? 

**Finduilas**:   
Not that it could ever happen, but -- what could I do? I couldn't just go   
traipsing across the wilds singlehandedly to attack the Enemy, that's absurd-- 

[longish pause] 

**Luthien**:   
You know something? I'm going to make myself very unpopular with you by saying   
this, but -- I don't think you really love him. Because if you did, you wouldn't   
be able to imagine that possiblity without getting upset. And there wouldn't be   
any question in your mind about the necessity of doing whatever it takes to   
save him. 

[Finduilas gives a short laugh, shaking her head in dismay] 

**Luthien**: [relenting]   
Look, I'm not trying to hurt your feelings, just to get you to think-- 

**Finduilas**:   
Oh, I'm not upset. Everyone goes through stages of romantic idealism and juvenile   
fixation in their lives. Eventually one grows out of it, though. 

[Luthien gives her a Look] 

**Luthien**:   
Finduilas -- I'm older than your parents. 

**Finduilas**: [kindly]   
Yes, but you don't act like it. 

**Luthien**:   
. . . ! 

**Huan**:   
[whines] 

**Finduilas**:   
--Besides, it could never happen, anyway. 

**Luthien**:   
Oh, that's a principle to run your life on! "It can't happen so I won't worry   
about it" --? Wasn't that what they used to tell your High King about Morgoth   
breaking through the siege? Your uncles complained about that to my parents lots   
of times, how nobody listened to them -- especially your precious "Lords of   
Nargothrond" here -- and unfortunately, they were right, weren't they? 

[pause] 

**Finduilas**:   
I can't believe you're so callous. 

**Luthien**:   
Oh! Honestly! Just go away, I can't take this any more. If my time's going to   
be wasted in prison, I shouldn't have to put up with being treated like an idiot   
on top of it. 

**Finduilas**: [sighing]   
Can I bring you anything else? More books? Some music? 

**Luthien**: [deadpan]   
How about a pick-axe? 

[The Regent's daughter gives her a sympathetic look and leaves.] 

**Luthien**: [shouting]   
Shut the door behind you, please! 

[aside] 

If I'm a prisoner, let's not pretend otherwise, all right? 

**Huan**: [getting up and pacing]   
[several short whines] 

**Luthien**: [shaking her head, amazed]   
I just don't get it. What's wrong with her? --But -- well, I suppose -- I mean,   
given that everyone in her family did that, just up and walked out on each other,   
not knowing if or when they'd ever be coming back -- perhaps it doesn't seem   
irrational to her. I wish I hadn't been too polite to ask Galadriel about it,   
after. I mean, it might not be any of my business, strictly speaking -- but then   
we are family after all, so on another level it is. I'm beginning to think that   
all the Noldor are crazy. --Or maybe it's just everyone who left Aman. 

**Huan**:   
[short loud bark] 

**Luthien**:   
I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings either. But I'm not used to things   
that make absolutely no sense at all. 

[jumps to her feet and runs to the door] 

I have to get out of here! 

[she flings wide the hallway entrance and shouts at the Guards:] 

What in Morgoth's name is wrong with you people? 

[She tries to slip past them but they stop her, gently but firmly, and lead her back   
into the parlor. She yells after them as they close the outer door again, panting:] 

Damn you to Angband! Let me go! 

[As soon as the door is shut she stops looking distraught and helpless -- though   
still crazed. Feral grin:] 

--That'll put them off their guard for now. 

[She gathers up her mantle and starts knotting fruit and biscuits from the bowls   
on the table into the corners before going over to the door. To Huan, whispering:] 

--You won't tell anyone, will you? 

**Huan**: [worried look]   
[thumps tail, twice] 

**Luthien**: [touching the door, sings very slowly]   
I love my love and well he knows--   
I love the ground whereon he goes   
and if my love I no more should see   
my life would quickly fade away-- 

[opens the door quietly and walks out without any fuss]   


* * *

**SCENE XXVII**

**Gower**:   
--Her fears full-formed,   
the captive guest of welcome well-outworn   
herself would free, her hopes stillborn-- 

[The Armories. Celegorm is coming back from the practice area, grinning broadly,   
helm under his arm, while various warriors give him wary and/or dirty looks. All   
are a bit disheveled. Curufin shoves through in the opposite direction, grabs   
his brother, and drags him behind a rack of spears.] 

**Curufin**: [urgent whisper]   
You're not going to believe this-- 

**Celegorm**: [hand jumping to swordhilt]   
--They came back?! 

**Curufin**:   
No. She got out again. 

**Celegorm**:   
I swear I worked it properly! 

**Curufin**:   
I know you did. --Don't worry. The main security system stopped her, at the   
Gates -- not the guards, though. They didn't notice her until the alarms started   
up -- seems she isn't any good at guessing passwords -- and then they brought   
her back inside to her rooms. 

**Celegorm**:   
So how did she do it? 

**Curufin**: [grimly]   
Apparently -- by whatever rules govern the rules of Arda -- an aftername given   
by a human is just as good as any other. --I wouldn't have thought of that either. 

**Celegorm**:   
So . . . she just . . . walked right through it? 

**Curufin**:   
Didn't even realize it was there, apparently. Didn't stop her at all. 

**Celegorm**: [frowning]   
I don't like that. Mortals shouldn't be able to have anything to do with power. 

**Curufin**:   
I agree. One more oversight on the part of the gods for the list. But -- one good   
thing's come of it, now everyone realizes that she's -- eccentric -- trying to run   
out barefoot and coatless with no provisions into the woods at this time of year.   
So I didn't even have to look responsible for suggesting that she be -- politely --   
restrained; someone else already suggested it to the Master of Defensive Illusions   
and he took care of it. I removed all trace of your working before he got there,   
by the way. 

**Celegorm**: [apprehensive]   
Do you think she'll be angry about it? 

**Curufin**: [shrugs]   
Probably. But not at you. What I wonder is if she'll say anything, or pretend she   
hasn't noticed it. Given her family's pride I'm guessing the latter. --Hey, want   
to go a few rounds? I could do with the exercise. 

**Celegorm**:   
Sure -- I'm not tired at all. This was childs' play. 

[They come out into the floor and Curufin starts taking down practice gear.] 

**Celegorm**: [to bystanders]   
Anyone else up for some more bruises? No takers? Oh well-- 

**Curufin**:   
Oh, you don't want to fight children, you want real competition! 

[They head off towards the pells; the native Nargothronders scowl after them] 

**First Warrior**:   
Someone needs to flatten that lout. 

**Second Warrior:**   
Which one? 

**First Warrior:**   
--Both of them. 

**Third Warrior:**   
You up for it? 

[Bitter looks all round]   


* * *

**SCENE XXVIII**

**Gower**:   
Not for the first time nor the last, recalling words hard-spoken,   
Tinuviel rueth yet again the fact of them unwitting broken,   
ne'er to trust repose in kindred souls, whose loyalty's but token-- 

[In the solar of her private wing, Luthien looks at the artificial Northern 'window'   
and leans on the stone frame as if it really overlooked a landscape.] 

**Luthien**: [hardly more than a whisper]   
[sings]   
The trees they do grow high   
And the leaves they do grow green   
Many is the time my true love I've seen   
Many an hour I've watched him all alone   
-- He's young but he's daily growing 

[She sighs, dispiritedly tracing the carved ornament with her forefinger.   
Behind her Celebrimbor enters the solar and watches her in silence; sensing   
his entrance, she gives no sign of awareness.] 

Oh, what's the use? I can't sing underground, where's no air, no light,   
no wind or stars to give me voice. And even if I could -- I set so much   
of my power into my Work, heart and soul and song and love -- it's as much   
myself as these my hands are now. I could not go far from it, or far   
without it, or do much after if I did, I'm afraid. 

[After a moment she begins to sing again:] 

Father, dear father, you've done me great wrong --   
You've married me to a great lord's son --   
I am twice twelve and he is but fourteen!   
-- He's young but he's daily growing 

Daughter, dear daughter, I've done you no wrong   
I've married you to a noble lord's son --   
When he's grown, he'll make a lord to wait upon   
-- He's young but he's daily growing 

One day as I was lookin' o'er my father's castle wall   
I spied all the boys a-playing at the ball   
My own true love was the flower of 'em all   
--He's young but he's daily growing 

At the age of fifteen he was a married man   
At the age of sixteen the father of a son   
At the age of seventeen his grave it was green   
And death had put an end to his growing -- 

[speaking without looking around to Celebrimbor] 

That isn't how it was, of course. Quite the opposite, in fact. But there's   
something in their story that calls to my heart. I don't even know if they   
were real people: it might have happened long ago in the Forgotten East, but   
mortals often tell stories that are about no one real, and yet they seem to   
be about everyone. I've learned so many, many stories about mortal Men that   
are nothing like what our sages believe. 

[caustic]   
--When will the host of Nargothrond be ready to set forth? 

**Celebrimbor**:   
I cannot say. 

**Luthien**:   
Then why did you bother to answer my message, if you haven't any news? 

**Celebrimbor**:   
I only wanted to tell you -- that you should not let your hopes   
soar too high -- lest the fall be too much for you. 

**Luthien**:   
You could come with me. You could help us. You're good at technical stuff,   
everyone says: you could figure out how to get past the security systems.   
I've never done anything like that. 

**Celebrimbor**:   
But you escaped from Doriath, in a rather . . . complicated and . . .   
technically involved way, I understand? 

**Luthien**:   
That was just talking people into doing what I wanted, people who don't   
stop to think about what you're asking, or why, or know they shouldn't be   
obstructing you in the first place. The rest was easy. 

**Celebrimbor**: [pained smile]   
-- As you're doing to me at this moment, my lady. Congratulations:   
it nearly worked. 

**Luthien**:   
But I'm asking you -- as a friend -- or one who could be a friend -- 

**Celebrimbor**:   
I'm afraid, Your Highness, if you're looking for friendship -- you will not   
find it here in Nargothrond. Not now. 

**Luthien**: [slowly, chillingly]   
Then it is true -- that there is something dark in Nargothrond, something biting   
at its roots, draining out the Light from its soul. I've felt it, but told myself   
it was just my own fears, and the oppressiveness of the hills over us. 

**Celebrimbor**:   
My lady -- 

**Luthien**:   
Don't "my lady" me! 

**Celebrimbor**:   
I can't -- my father, my uncle, they would -- 

**Luthien**:   
Join us. 

**Celebrimbor**:   
But duty to my kin-- 

**Luthien**: [savagely]   
--What's "kin"? What's the word worth, if it doesn't mean friend first? What does   
it add, to friendship? I have no kin. 

**Celebrimbor**:   
You don't understand -- it's the Curse, the Doom, it cannot be denied -- 

**Luthien**:   
I deny it. I will not give my beloved and my friend to an undeserved fate,   
because you ex-Valinoreans are fools, and the Sons of Feanor mad, wicked, and   
beyond all help. --Choose, Lord Celebrimbor, choose -- before it's too late. 

[He goes out again, silently; she bows her head against the stone mural] 

* * *

**SCENE XXIX**

**Gower**:   
--Her simple efforts foiled to fly,   
the Princess-prisoner turns to guile;   
Simplicity she feigns, maintains, sly   
allowing all to judge her fool this while . . . 

[In the antechamber. Luthien is seated at the table, with Celegorm across from   
her. Huan is drowsing beside his master's chair, his head on his outstretched   
forelegs. Luthien wears an expression of somewhat strained politeness, but she   
would be polite to Morgoth himself if it might get her out of here. Not knowing   
her moods, perhaps, Celegorm does not seem to notice the strained   
atmosphere at first.] 

**Celegorm**:   
So we thought to find wolves on that day as well, but instead we found   
something amazing. --Guess what it was. 

**Luthien**:   
A boar? 

[Celegorm shakes his head] 

A bear? 

[Celegorm again shakes head in negative] 

A wild ox? 

[Again the negative response. He is smiling guilelessly.] 

I give up. 

**Celegorm**:   
A deer. 

**Luthien**:   
But aren't there many deer hereabouts? Why is that amazing? 

**Celegorm**:   
It was a white one. Don't see too many of those -- wolves get 'em all first,   
because they show up like a star in the dark woods. 

**Luthien**:   
And did you catch the white hart? 

**Celegorm**:   
Doe. It was a 'white doe, white as snow, shining bright as she did go--' 

[as if to say: See? I can give you poetry too...] 

Led our hounds and horses a merry dance, she did. 

**Luthien**: [not liking where this seems to be going.]   
Poor thing! 

[deciding to play along for the sake of information/confirmation] 

Did you catch her? 

**Celegorm**:   
Mm . . . not yet. She still is wild for to hold, though I think she could be tamed. 

**Luthien**:   
What will you do when you catch her? 

**Celegorm**:   
Why eat her, of course! --Only joking, dear lady, I would never harm such a   
rare and lovely beast, but keep her safe in a walled garden filled with every   
manner of flower and tree she could long for, where no wild animals could ever   
come near to injure her. 

**Luthien**:   
But she is a wild creature too, is she not? 

**Celegorm**:   
Only because she hasn't met a worthy master. Her nature is far too gentle   
for the wolf-haunted wilderness and the harsh winters of the world beyond. 

**Luthien**: [frowning decidedly]   
I don't think that wild animals should be trapped and held. My mother's   
nightingales are never caged. 

**Celegorm**: [looking at her with sad eyes]   
You don't seem to be amused by my company. I am crushed, positively crushed. 

**Luthien**: [apologetic]   
My lord, the hour grows late, and I grow weary -- of waiting. 

[before he can make too much of her last words, she adds in a piqued tone,   
and much lighter:] 

--Besides, you laughed at me about that -- that bug, the other night. 

**Celegorm**: [smiling indulgently at her]   
Oh, but you've got to admit it was funny. 

**Luthien**:   
It was in my clothes, and it was not funny at all. 

**Celegorm**:   
Well, at least I killed it for you. 

**Luthien**:   
I didn't want it killed, I just wanted it off me. 

**Celegorm**:   
I don't see how you can be so scared of a little beetle -- well, all right,   
not so little -- but still, there have to have been beetles in Doriath.   
Whatever did you do, traveling through the forest? Trees are full of 'em,   
don't you know? 

**Luthien**:   
I'm not scared of them, I just don't like their claws and feet and the   
pointy armor on them and the oily way they move. They make me think of   
how I imagine Glaurung, or those monsters that roamed around in the Outer   
Darkness before the Sun. And I'm always afraid their legs will pull off   
when I try to get them loose. Anyway, I expect them outside -- not indoors,   
in a place supposed to be impenetrable by invasion! 

[brief pause] 

Beren never makes fun of me about beetles. He just moves them someplace   
else, usually before I notice them. --At least that's what he thinks,   
and I let him go on thinking that I haven't noticed. He's very kind. 

**Celegorm**: [his smile unchanging, and his voice still pleasant]   
You know, I don't really want to hear about Barahirion any more. 

**Luthien**: [in the same manner]   
You know, I'd rather gathered that. 

**Celegorm**:   
So where does that leave us? 

**Luthien**:   
With nothing more to talk about, my lord. 

**Celegorm**:   
Oh, I'm sure we can find something. Your eyes -- your lips -- your hair -- 

[He reaches out and takes her hand as he speaks. He does not hurt her, but his   
grip is fast.] 

**Luthien**: [tersely]   
My hand, my lord -- 

**Celegorm**:   
--is lovely.   
[lifts and kisses her fingers] 

**Luthien**: [pulling back to no avail]   
Let go. 

**Celegorm**: [earnestly]   
Let me first convince you that you deserve no less than the best, and will be   
satisfied with no inferior thing, by disclosing to you the currents of my heart-- 

**Luthien**:   
-- Lord Celegorm, let go of me! 

**Celegorm**: [smiling widely]   
Say 'please.' 

**Luthien**: [through her teeth]   
Let. Go! 

**Celegorm**: [pulls her closer, so that she must rise from her seat and lean towards him]   
You don't really want that, you know you don't -- 

[Luthien braces her left hand on the table edge, puts her foot on the arm of   
his chair and kicks hard, sending him over backwards with a crash. When he   
involuntarily lets go of her in reaction she flings herself spinning across   
the table with the momentum and braces herself to fling that over at him too.   
She may not be a match for a warrior who spends his free time hunting big game,   
but her arboreal upbringing and art haven't left her a lightweight either.] 

**Celegorm**: [panting, grinning, a mad light in his eyes]   
--Not a shy nightingale at all, but a falcon she is! Foot me, will you? You'll   
pay for that strike, milady, with a softer touch. Ah, but you'll fly to my   
hand soon enough -- 

[He moves toward her, and she moves sideways along the table, keeping maximum   
distance between them] 

**Luthien**:   
Stay back! 

**Celegorm**:   
Else what? 

[A huge grey wave crashes between him and the table, knocking him backwards.   
Huan half-turns, blocking all access to Luthien, his fangs bared. 

**Huan**: [loud snarling growl]   
! ! !

**Celegorm**:   
Huan!?!

**Huan**:   
[series of short, imperative barks] 

**Celegorm**:   
Down, I say! Down!!!

**Huan**:   
[drawn-out growl, ending in a sharp, reproachful bark] 

[He continues to block his master's efforts to flank him. It is a standoff, as   
Celegorm is unwilling to go hand-to-teeth with a dog the size of a horse.] 

**Luthien**: [her voice a bit ragged, but cold and tearless]   
Lord Celegorm, you will leave now, and not return until you have learned   
better than to assail a guest in her own chambers. 

[Celegorm stands still, his face growing ashen, his breathing growing unsteady   
with something like fear now.] 

**Celegorm**: [shaken at his own bad behavior and loss of control]   
Y-your Highness, please underst-- 

**Luthien**:   
--Go. 

[There is no relenting or uncertainty in her expression. The Noldor lord accepts   
his dismissal, turning his anger on his dog instead of himself.] 

**Celegorm**: [savagely]   
Huan. --Heel. 

[Huan drops down to an alert crouch between Luthien and Celegorm. He is clearly   
not going anywhere just now -- but just as clearly able to go anywhere fast if   
he needs to] 

**Celegorm**:   
You treacherous Hound! 

**Huan**:   
[angry bark] 

**Celegorm**:   
You'll follow anyone who gives you sweetmeats, you wolf-at-heart! 

**Luthien**:   
Please. Leave. Now. 

[Celegorm cannot think of anything else to say. As he stalks out, Huan rises and   
trots over to push the door all the way shut with his nose. Safely shielded behind   
it, Luthien at last dares to give in to stress and sinks down to the tiles, shaking.   
Huan returns and sits beside her, and she hugs him, leaning against the Hound's massive   
shoulder, crying into his coat.]   


* * *

**SCENE XXIX**

**Gower:**   
Conscience belated in full weight returning as of boulders,   
Lord Celegorm seeks to shift this burden from his shoulders-- 

[The royal apartments. Curufin is rummaging through chests and caskets, having covered   
the table with boxes and their contents. Opening yet another he takes out a handful of   
gold chains and links, and jingles them before tossing them casually into a pile with   
other ingots and piecemetal. Celegorm enters looking distraught, shuts the door hard   
behind him] 

**Curufin**:   
What's wrong? 

**Celegorm**: [looking around warily]   
Is this place secured? 

**Curufin**   
Of course -- always. What's the matter? 

**Celegorm**:   
I went to visit the Princess again. 

**Curufin**:   
Things didn't go well? 

**Celegorm**:   
I've ruined it. I -- I don't know what came over me -- I've ruined everything. 

**Curufin**:   
You didn't tell her!?! 

**Celegorm**:   
I didn't need to, she'd already guessed. I -- I frightened her, Cur.   
I rushed her -- rushed at her, not like I was a person but like some damned   
unreasoning brute of a two-year-old colt just turned loose with the herd-- 

**Curufin**: [dryly]   
And did you get your jaw kicked in for it? 

**Celegorm**:   
Close enough. Now she won't even let me apologize to her. 

[wildly] 

I don't understand! I'm Eldar -- not some animal, or Man hardly better than   
animal -- how could I be overcome, how could my reason be overthrown by passion   
in such a -- a counter-productive way? Because things were going so well -- she   
really seemed pleased to see me, to talk to me, --right up until I terrified her! 

**Curufin**: [musing]   
Well, there's always 'Brim -- I think he's intoxicated with her, too. . . perhaps   
we should steer that way, eh? I don't think he's ever done anything incautious in   
his life-- 

**Celegorm**:   
No! -- No, I think we should stick with our original plan. 

**Curufin**: [dawning realization]   
You've fallen for her. Hah! 

[Celegorm scowls at him] 

**Curufin**: [frowning]   
She can't really prefer Survival Boy to you, can she? Obviously old Shadows is   
right and she's under a spell. But who could put a spell on one of the Kindred?   
Even if she is a Dark Elf. Could he have been an Enemy agent after all...? 

**Celegorm**: [uncomfortable with this self-deception now]   
She's hardly that -- and he's as shallow and obvious as they come. That's not   
Morgoth's style at all in turning double-agents. He's not twisted, just insane. 

**Curufin**:   
Are you really in love with her? Not just the illusion going out of control and   
the act taking on its own reality? I mean, I know all the advantages and reasons   
-- I thought of them myself -- but she's hardly the equal of one of us, regardless   
of the almost-blasphemous lineage she claims. 

**Celegorm**:   
Act? The act was -- that it was ever an act. How can I begin to describe what it   
is about her -- that queenly way of going and the flashing look in her eyes when   
she gets angry -- she -- she glows almost, like silver hot in the mold, and she   
stands there in that ratty old dress of hers with her hair chopped off like a   
slave's, and -- laugh not, but I tell you it's as though one of Them stood there,   
as though Varda walked in disguise, standing an arm's length away. --And yet she   
seems so approachable, with that cute little half-skip in her walk and that quaint   
old-fashioned accent of hers . . . Don't tell me you're unaffected by it, little   
brother! Everyone watches her -- no one can help it! 

**Curufin**: [shrugs]   
She's aesthetic enough -- or would be if she took care of herself -- and the   
kingdom she will inherit should any, ah, tragic accident befall Elwe is more   
than charm enough for anyone. But the fact that you feel this way obviously   
means that you're meant for each other. "Soul mates" and all that. 

**Celegorm**: [sarcastic]   
Only she doesn't know it, somehow-- 

**Curufin**:   
She hasn't thought about it carefully. I'm sure that once I've talked things over   
with her and forced her to look at facts, to think carefully about the realities --   
the impossibilities -- of her obsession, then she will realize how flattered, and   
and how honored, she is, and ought to be, that you've stooped to notice her. You   
know that I can make anyone see reason, you mustn't worry that I can't deal with   
this, too. Now -- sit down and tell me what happened, exactly, so I know what I   
have to work with . . . 

* * *

**SCENE XXX**

**Gower**:   
Friendless, imprisoned, fearful and distraught,   
Tinuviel awaits in golden cage she knows not what,   
--yet not all forsaken, though her own folk heed her naught:   
one still heeds her, attends her, still supports her cause,   
both lesser and greater than his lord, wrestling with the laws   
that set Duty against Duty, for Elf, for Mortal, for those with paws-- 

[Luthien is pacing back and forth still, running her hands along the carvings on   
the walls, while Huan lies down in the hallway connecting the solar with the private   
chambers, watching her alertly with mournful eyes.] 

**Guard**:   
My lady, the Lord of Aglon-and-Himlad is here to speak to you. 

**Luthien**: [very curt]   
Which one? 

**Guard**:   
Er -- Lord Curufin. 

**Luthien**:   
Show him in. 

[Curufin enters, indicating dismissively that the attendant should close the doors   
behind him. He looks closely at Luthien, appraising her state-of-mind.   
Note: Curufin never raises his voice throughout the following exchange.] 

**Luthien**: [before Curufin has a chance to speak]   
--You may tell your brother, my lord, that I will accept his apology only   
with the tangible mark of his penitence -- that is to say, when he returns   
my cloak to me. And the best horse in your stables, in reparation. 

**Curufin**: [innocent]   
I beg your pardon? Your Highness, I fear I haven't the least notion of what   
you're speaking about. 

**Luthien**:   
You mean you're not here to bring his apologies, since I forbade him my   
presence in his own person? Or perhaps you haven't heard--? 

**Curufin**:   
I am here on my brother's behalf, yes, -- but I'm afraid you're mistaken as   
to the nature of my visit. I am here to approach you with formal notice of   
my brother's suit as claimant to your hand in marriage. 

[Luthien stares at him in total shock] 

I steadfastly urge you to accept him, without hesitation, as a proposal which   
will do you honor and increase your estate in Middle-earth, bestowing upon you   
and your family not only rank and prosperity and widened realm, but a connection   
with the highest House of the noblest race of the Eldar, -- a fair exchange, for   
your fair self, your Highness. 

[long pause] 

**Luthien**: [slowly and emphatically]   
I am betrothed to Beren. I will never love another. --Why is this so hard to   
understand? Is my accent too strange? I understand your Sindarin perfectly well --   
and Beren understands me, even though his dialect is far different from ours.   
--Or is everyone in Nargothrond just deaf? 

**Curufin**: [just as slowly and emphatically]   
Beren is dead. --Deal with it. 

**Luthien**: [alight]   
No! I would know it, if he were. 

**Curufin**:   
Are you so sure of that? 

**Luthien**:   
--Would you know if the Sun were struck out of the sky? Even here, even in this   
buried place where I cannot feel her, I would know. The same way I'd know it, if   
he was no more beneath the Stars -- Arda being dark and lifeless would tell me! 

**Curufin**: [shaking his head]   
Such the romantic, Lady Luthien -- though it is charming indeed. But you are old   
enough to put aside such childish fancies and face facts, and the facts are thus:   
Barahirion is no fit mate for such as you, nor will you in any case ever set eyes   
on him again. Better, then, to take what is available to you, and freely offered,   
and to your great advantage, and put your mortal folly from your mind -- end this   
war of yours with your parents, and make in your own person peace between our   
estranged Houses, and enjoy the rewards of your rationality. 

**Luthien**:   
If you have no wish to hazard yourself in rescue of my true love nor your kin,   
my lord, and don't care to strike at our common foe in deepest insult possible --   
then let me go on my way as I've been asking, and I'll do it myself. You have no   
right to keep me here, and you know it. 

**Curufin**:   
What, without your hair-cloak even? 

**Luthien**:   
If I must, though I would rather not. 

**Curufin**: [patronizing, extreme "grown-up to little girl" singsong]   
And what will you do when you get there? 

**Luthien**:   
Whatever I have to. For myself, I fear nothing. 

**Curufin**: [wry smile]   
Did you know my cousin Aredhel? 

**Luthien**: [thrown by the change of subject]   
No -- she's Turgon and Fingon's sister, right? Didn't they go off somewhere on   
their own, she and Turgon and the Kindred at Nevrast, and drop out of sight   
completely? That's what we'd heard. 

**Curufin**:   
Almost completely. Some whiles back she came to visit us at Aglon, and stayed   
a few seasons, but unfortunately we were visiting our brother Caranthir in his   
province and missed her. We discovered when we came back and found her gone,   
that she had decided to go exploring and looking for unclaimed territory of her   
own -- somewhere still perhaps within the whole of Beleriand that your father   
lays claim to, but beyond the area he actually administers -- and from which his   
Rangers had prohibited her party's crossing. Now she was an Elf-maid warrior-   
trained and used to long riding and hard travel, not to say a Noldor lady of high   
degree, so you would think her far better equipped to journey safely through the   
wild lands than a Gray-elven girl sheltered in the artificial confines of Doriath,   
-- would you not? 

**Luthien**:   
I would guess so -- I've heard a fair bit about the Crossing of the Ice from our   
cousins over the course of their stays with us, and it's nothing I can even begin   
to imagine -- though I suppose when one has no other alternative, one can manage   
almost anything. Or else die trying, of course. 

**Curufin**: [briefly checked]   
Quite so. --As a matter of fact, she made it through that part of the country north   
of you where Ungoliant once stayed -- I believe you are at least generally familiar   
with its hazards? -- totally alone, since her warrior escort was lost in the web of   
illusions over the land and she could not find them, and in their honor refused to   
give up the mission they had died upon, before reaching our domain. So you need not   
guess at it. And she still disappeared without a trace, for years of the Sun, until   
one day we discovered that she'd been taken in marriage by Eol of Nan-Elmoth -- 

**Luthien**:   
Eol? My father's cousin the crazy hermit? 

**Curufin**:   
The same. And when I say "taken" I mean just that. My agents spotted her   
flying cross-country at top speed with a single squire, who we later learned to   
be her son, because her husband showed up not long after absolutely furious and   
demanding that we help him track her down. I sent him packing, needless to say   
-- but nobody knows what happened to them. --Unless you've heard? 

[pot::kettle suspicion mode] 

Perhaps you know all of this already and you're just letting me talk -- perhaps   
you knew it all along, and even more of the story, and perhaps the ending? --My   
lady. 

**Luthien**:   
No. That's isn't me. 

[loudly unspoken -- That's you--] 

Eol never had anything to do with us if he could possibly avoid it, which was   
basically all the time. We finally got a rumour through the Wandering Folk that   
he'd up and left without a trace, and we never heard word to the contrary.   
I hadn't even heard that he had started a family. He never had anything to do   
with the Kindred except for a few hired hands to help him with his forge --   
the only people I ever heard he chose to associate with were the Dwarves, because   
of their shared hobbies. 

**Curufin**: [stung into momentary distraction]   
Metals-technology is not a hobby -- not like the performing arts. It's extremely   
useful, not to mention being a sign of civilization and culture. 

**Luthien**: [shrugs]   
As you please. 

[frowns] 

--Why was she traveling, anyway? 

**Curufin**: [haughtily]   
We of Aman are not obliged to answer to anyone for our comings and goings. 

**Luthien**:   
I just wondered because it seems like the kind of thing one would need a good   
reason to do, if they'd gone to such trouble to disappear, and perhaps she had   
some important messages for the High King or something like that, but I'd think   
they would have said so to our Border Guard in that case, and my father isn't --   
except this once -- completely unreasonable. 

[gesturing emphatically] 

In fact -- being Noldor aristocracy with all that you've impressed me that that   
entails -- how could she have been kept a prisoner against her will for all those   
years? Wouldn't that be as unlikely as cousin Galadriel being held hostage?   
Especially by Eol-the-hermit, who really is a "Dark-elf," and awfully close to   
the Dark side as well, given that he cursed the lease payment for Nan Elmoth.   
At least that's what my mother thinks. 

[with a challenging look, dropping all masks of courtesy] 

--Actually, I'm surprised you didn't get along with him just fine. 

[Curufin gives her a sharp glance but does not rise to the bait.] 

He acted as though it was a mortal insult for us to request some payment in   
return for having complete and exclusive title to a very extensive section of   
Beleriand, and what he came up with was practically an insult in itself -- even   
before we looked at it closely. One sword, for deed in perpetuity, I ask you, and   
then to say that we should be flattered because it was one-of-a-kind. Which it   
wasn't, it turned out, because he'd made another from the same bit of thunderbolt-   
iron for himself. So given the similiarity of your attitudes towards Doriath, I'd   
expect you to make common cause rather than fight. 

**Curufin**: [smiling]   
Whatever your opinion, or your family's opinion, of us -- certain facts remain,   
Princess of Doriath. Your father's laws do not extend here, nor can he protect   
you past his domain. Beren is not here to defend you -- from what you have said,   
he cannot even defend himself. In a short while -- short by any measure that our   
people use -- he will, for all intents and purposes, no longer exist. You have   
gone wandering alone in the wilds like a stray lamb, and like a stray lamb you   
are prey for whatever wolfish beast should chance upon you. It would be the part   
of wisdom to reckon with facts, your Highness, and to accept the realities of   
your present situation. 

[grimly serious] 

Remember the story of my cousin -- the true story, and consider your chances,   
set against hers. You Dark-elves haven't our resistance to the dark, after all. 

**Luthien**:   
I never thought of us like that. I always felt that my mother brought Aman with her   
wherever she was. 

**Curufin**:   
What a delightful notion. But do you really think you're the equal of any of us?   
Now that you're outside her protection? 

**Luthien**: [defiantly]   
I am not without all resources myself, my lord! 

**Curufin**: [tilting his head back to look sarcastically at her]   
Indeed. Then might I ask why you haven't left already? --I think we both know   
very well that such scant power as you had you have no longer, and cannot Work   
again. The reality is -- that you are one and we are many, and you have no   
recourse but to accept that fact. Or, perhaps, not to accept it -- but learn   
the truth of it all the same. 

[silence] 

It could be worse: Nargothrond is a rich realm, and shall be richer yet under   
proper governance, and you will lack for nothing here -- and my brother is   
overwhelmed by your radiant beauty, and honors you as highly as any Noldor maid,   
and will let no harm come to you . . . and he is even among the Foremost acounted   
handsome, and his prowess in the field unmatched, and his temper most gracious   
so none do cross him. You could do far worse, my lady. 

**Luthien**: [speaking very fast and nervously, her eyes fixed on Curufin]   
There is a story of Marach out of the Forgotten Days, my lord, in which a   
mortal lady was born under a Doom to be the most beautiful of all her age,   
and so she was promised to a mighty sovereign from before the hour of her   
birth, and held in a lonely place where none might see her before she was   
of an age to be given to him, as was the custom in those days of the East,   
but a hunter whose Doom it was to find her came singing upon the house where   
she was held in secret and she heard his song and fled with him, and his   
brothers defended them, and there was great war as was foretold in the lady's   
Doom -- 

[weighting the next words particularly] 

-- but at last they were betrayed to their deaths by a lesser lord whom   
they had trusted, and the lady was taken by the lesser lord to be his slave,   
and then to win favor with the great king the lesser lord made gift of her   
to his master, but when they rode to meet the mighty sovereign's emissaries,   
the lesser lord mocked her, and cast all her weakness in her face, and as he   
laughed she laughed at him in turn, and faded as mortals fade -- that is to say,   
she cast herself down from the high place of the mountain where they rode into   
the stones, and her body was broken, and she died, and so escaped her Doom to   
find her love again. 

[as though discussing textual variations in a symposium] 

We do not know if it be true, or if the mighty sovereign and the lesser lord   
be truly Morgoth Bauglir and Sauron his servant, and the lady a sacrifice to   
the Dark Ones as dim rumor has it, but it is a very old story, my lord, and   
one that is often told, though it is sad to tell. 

**Curufin**: [sounding mildly confused]   
I beg your pardon, Your Highness, but why do you relate this lamentable   
chronicle of mortal woes? Were we not speaking of the state of Beleriand's   
polity and future prosperity? 

**Luthien**:   
I am not sure of what you were speaking, my lord. 

**Curufin**: [smiling]   
Of the folly of such a fair one as you venturing the wilds, and risking your   
life, your health, your happiness and peace amid rough places and rougher folk. 

[He steps closer, not touching her, but backing her up towards the wall, and blocking   
her with his hands set against the wall on either side when she tries to dodge past   
him. Angry but cold, she folds her arms and stares back at him, unimpressed.] 

Barahirion might worship you as a goddess too high for anything save veneration   
and abject obedience -- but not all mortals are so . . . docile, so . . . easily   
enspelled. Easterling chieftains like the ones in your story will not consider   
either your race or your noble blood as grounds for fear in their dealings with   
you; nor will Orcs, wolves, --Balrogs, or soul-destroying Undead phantoms regard   
you as anything other than -- tasty. 

[He leans close to speak softly in her ear, weighting each word dramatically] 

You really . . . should . . . consider . . . your options . . . very, very   
carefully. Your Highness. 

**Luthien**: [pale but calm]   
If you're trying to intimidate me, my lord, rest assured -- I am intimidated.   
If you're not trying to intimidate me -- or rather, whether you are or are not   
-- you should stop right now. 

**Curufin**: [tipping her chin up to make her look at him in a less-haughty way]   
Because you don't like it? 

**Luthien**:   
Because Huan doesn't like it. 

[Behind Curufin's ear there is a loud growl.] 

You should really learn some manners, Lord Curufin. It's sad that four and a   
half centuries' experience here hasn't taught you the courtesy of a Mortal. One   
tends to think that what mere living hasn't managed to convey, yet might be   
learned in a very sharp lesson -- rather quickly, I dare say. 

[Curufin looks slowly over his shoulder, confirming the hostile situation] 

**Curufin**: [trying the masterful approach]   
Down, boy! Down-- 

**Luthien**:   
Huan, would you be so kind as to show milord to the door? And through it as well? 

[Huan shoves between them and edges over enough to stagger Curufin backwards;   
Luthien gives him a grateful pat on the withers before he moves in and starts   
herding Curufin with irresistable force out into the hallway] 

I'm sorry, my rustic Doriath accent must have confused him -- did I say "show"   
or "shove," milord? 

**Curufin**: [patronizing]   
Your Highness, I hope that you will carefully consider, in cool rationality   
and mature calculation, what we have discussed -- rather than placing your   
faith in dumb brutes of uncertain loyalty. 

**Luthien**: [defiantly]   
Only my relatives' loyalty has ever been in doubt, Lord Curufin . . . of   
Nargothrond. 

**Huan**: [blocking the opening, looks at Luthien and barks] 

Yes, Huan, please close the door as well. 

[She waits until Curufin can't see her before sagging back against the wall -- but   
only for an instant, before she pulls herself together and resumes frantically, if   
uselessly, pacing the rooms, checking the ventilators and chimneys again to prove to   
herself that she hasn't overlooked any avenue of escape. Huan follows her, hovering,   
with a worried expression.] 

* * *

**SCENE XXXI**

**Gower**:   
--Hence, and spurnéd hither, Lord Curufin soon hath proved   
that Elves, no less than Men, hold well the power to self-delude . . . 

[The royal apartments -- Celebrimbor is here, as well as Celegorm, who keeps giving   
his nephew wary, hostile looks. The younger Elf is calmly perusing a notebook, while   
his uncle paces; there is the air of a recently concluded argument and momentary truce   
about the room. Curufin enters, looking a bit as though he has a bad taste in his mouth.] 

**Celegorm**: [nervously]   
So? 

**Curufin**:   
It's a start -- progress was made. I'm sure she'll see reason, once she's been   
left to think it over in peace and quiet for a bit. 

[pause] 

You didn't say anything about -- Huan. 

[silence -- he looks sharply at his brother] 

Did you know he's defected? 

[Celegorm makes a gloomy noise] 

He menaced me, you know. 

[His brother does not answer] 

--You too, eh? 

**Celebrimbor**: [turning a page of the book he's reading]   
Perhaps the fact that two who could be said to represent the Powers most closely   
on this shore are dead set against you might just perchance to indicate something. 

**Curufin**: [rounding on him]   
What? 

**Celebrimbor** [wilfully misunderstanding]   
Oh, I'm not completely certain, but something along the lines of -- this is a very   
bad, bad idea -- 

**Curufin**:   
This is for your benefit, boy, don't forget -- your fortunes are as much at stake   
as the rest of our House, and you stand to gain no less by consolidation of our   
resources and the realms of the Eldar in Middle-earth. 

**Celebrimbor**: [vague smile]   
My benefit? I had all the benefits I required before your -- rebellion. 

**Celegorm**: [hotly]   
-- Look, you ungrateful whelp, you can just betake yourself to the kennels if you're   
too good for -- 

**Curufin**: [icy]   
Oh, I know very well that you can be bought like that damned Hound with gifts   
and flattery: that fool cousin of ours gave you unlimited workspace and raved   
over every least thing you made as though he'd made it himself, and you lapped   
it all up -- never thinking about how it looked to his credit, having a Feanorian   
artist at his beck and call -- 

**Celebrimbor**: [disgusted]   
You really do see everything through your own unique, bent prism, don't you, Father? 

[he makes a marginal note in his book, shaking his head slightly] 

**Curufin**:   
You're part of this family, and you're just as bound by the Oath as your uncles   
and I are. Do not forget it. 

**Celebrimbor**: [ironic smile]   
Am I? I suppose I am, at that. 

[gets up to leave] 

**Curufin**: [suspicious look]   
Where are you going? 

**Celebrimbor**:   
I've got a class to teach in half an hour -- I need to get ready for it. 

**Curufin**: [meaningfully]   
I do trust that that is all you are planning on doing? 

**Celebrimbor**: [bitter]   
Don't worry -- I can no more stand to think of her Highness wandering barefoot   
and helpless in the wilds than you can. 

[as he goes to leave the suite Celegorm gets in his way and blocks him, giving him   
a glower and making him go around, in a little dominance display, calling after   
him scornfully:] 

**Celegorm**:   
--Whelp! 

**Curufin**: {pouring drinks for them both]   
Don't let him get to you. I don't know -- this younger generation. They don't have   
our nerve. I'd almost prefer it if he'd defy me, you know. At least that would be   
something. He's just too much like his mother, all pious disapproval and no   
willingness to do anything. --Here. 

[hands his brother the glass; they share a look of mutual support and frustration] 

**Celegorm**:   
Someday -- they'll be lining up to apologize to us. All of 'em. 

**Curufin**:   
Here's to then! 

[They toss back the liquor in toast.] 

**Celegorm**:   
So . . . what do we do now? 

**Curufin**: [smiling]   
You -- do whatever you like. I've an idea of mine to follow up on. 

* * *

**SCENE XXXIII**

**Gower**:   
Subtlety well-practised surer may, like water under stone,   
unset secure foundations than shall be easily o'erthrown   
by merest force, with but misdoubt-- 

[A conservatory, so to speak, with sculpture gardens in beds of indoor plants and   
lots of water. Finduilas and her fiance are there, having made up, sitting next   
to a pond feeding fish. Curufin enters on the farther side and begins walking along   
the paths, apparently oblivious or unconcerned by their presence. Gwindor notices   
him and begins to get angry.] 

**Gwindor**: [quietly]   
Come on, Faelivrin, let's go. 

**Finduilas**: [normal voice]   
We only just got here, Gwin, what are you talking about? 

[he glances significantly over at Curufin] 

**Gwindor**:   
It's getting crowded. 

**Finduilas**: [quiet too]   
You can't change things by refusing to accept them. Or by letting yourself be   
controlled through your reactions. 

**Gwindor**:   
I can determine my own circumstances. 

**Finduilas**:   
Well, so can I. 

**Gwindor**:   
I'm going to the pels. --Won't you come along? and inspire me? 

[she shrugs, looking frustrated] 

**Finduilas**:   
I don't like the Armory. It's loud and it smells of oil and there's nothing   
for me to do there. 

[he raises an eyebrow] 

Well, except watch you. 

**Gwindor**:   
I always come to all your musical affairs. 

**Finduilas**: [tiredly]   
But it bores me, Gwin. 

[pause -- smaller voice:] 

And I don't like seeing you get hit. 

[Gwindor's expression changes from annoyed to indulgent. He gives her a quick kiss   
and picks up his cloak, managing to combine slinging it over his shoulder with the   
bow of courtesy to the Son of Feanor, thus spoiling the effect of the gesture entirely.   
Curufin however only returns it without seeming to notice the slight. After the other   
lord has left the cavern he strolls over to where Finduilas is tossing crumbs to the   
goldfish rather more emphatically than necesary.] 

**Finduilas**: [sharply]   
Don't say anything. 

**Curufin**:   
About what? 

[Finduilas gives him a Look, but his expression is as innocent as his voice. She still   
watches him suspiciously. Putting one foot on the bench he leans over, frowning at the   
surface of the pool for a moment, before speaking, guaranteeing her attention.] 

I wanted to talk to you about our cousin of Doriath. 

[her face becomes even more wary] 

--Have you noticed signs of increasing instability in her behaviour? 

[quickly] 

I -- I know you're loyal, and I know you care about her, and I'm not asking you to   
betray any confidences. I'm only remarking on what I've noticed, and others . . .   
and wondering if your concern for her shall not outweigh your distaste for me.   
Because -- regardless -- we are both committed to the good of our families and our   
people, and both matters are united in the person and problem of her Highness, and   
your greater closeness to her may well give you the information, and the ability,   
that is needed to assist her. 

[Finduilas looks troubled] 

You do grant that she's in need of help, don't you? 

[shedoesn't exactly nod agreement, but her silence answers] 

Have you -- found a -- certain wildness, a lack of touch with reality, in her   
speech lately? I -- I have to ask, because I've just come from talking with   
the Princess myself, and . . . she doesn't seem to be speaking the same language   
as the rest of us at all. --And I'm not making asinine jokes about her accent. 

[Finduilas sighs heavily, shakes her head] 

**Finduilas**: [ironic emphasis]   
Where to begin? 

[As the camera pulls back, Curufin takes a seat on the bench without any sign of   
offense from the Regent's daughter, who is declaiming with animated gestures.] 

* * *

**SCENE XXXIV**

**Gower**:   
Contending with her fair cousin's soft disdain,   
Tinuviel strives to prove, as doth complain,   
that Elf no less than Man in that domain   
may smile and smile, and yet a villain remain -- 

[Luthien's apartments. Finduilas is sitting in one of the chairs of the solar,   
looking sympathetic-yet-sceptical as Luthien strides up and down in front of her,   
gesticulating as she speaks] 

**Luthien**:   
And then he says, not outright, but just as clearly as if he had, that they'll   
never let me go--! 

**Finduilas**: [frowning]   
Do you think you could sit down perhaps? 

**Luthien**: [stops & stares]   
? ? ? 

**Finduilas**:   
Or at least stop walking back and forth? It's very distracting. 

**Luthien**:   
Finduilas! Celegorm would not let me go, told me I'd not only like it but wanted   
it, and his brother instead of apologizing for him, told me to be grateful for   
the attention. --Are you sure they're not possessed? Maybe they got caught after   
the Battle and nobody's realized they've been brainwashed. But -- no -- I'm sure   
Finrod would have seen it right off. I guess they're just evil without any   
assistance from Morgoth. 

**Finduilas**:   
Oh, I'm sure you must have misunderstood. They're highborn as well as   
High-Elven -- they wouldn't do such things. 

**Luthien**: [incredulous]   
You're not listening to me again. You're just ignoring everything   
inconvenient and unpleasant -- as usual. Don't you hear what I'm saying?   
Or am I not real to you, either? Because I'm not one of you exalted Noldor?   
Do you see us native Middle-earth people as somewhere above trees, and perhaps   
above animals, but not necessarily, depending on whether they're your animals   
or not? Because that's what I'm getting from you. 

**Finduilas**:   
How can you say such things! You really, really have no-- 

[breaks off at a loss for the right word] 

**Luthien**:   
--Shame? Respect? Manners? No. I have wisdom. Which is not a comforting or   
easy or light burden at all. Now, let's get this straight: your cousins have   
menaced me with the threat of being forced to become Celegorm's bride, willing   
or not -- with that my sole choice. If that happens, there will be bloodshed --   
and lots of it. You cannot imagine how much will follow. If my father was upset   
enough to threaten any of us with death who would help me escape from Doriath to   
join Beren, he will not stop at disapproving words when he finds that the sons   
of Feanor are now his sons-in-law. You've never seen him go to war. I have. He   
hasn't needed to for a very long time but he hasn't forgotten how. Trust me. 

[brief pause] 

**Finduilas**: [sharply]   
Well, that would rather put an end to his superiority about kinslaying, wouldn't   
it? He would hardly be able to look down on the Feanor clan after that. 

**Luthien**:   
I rather suspect he would consider it poetic justice. Regardless -- the only   
thing Beren ever did to my father was have the misfortune of attracting my   
attention and affections. He never killed any of his family or friends, never   
annexed any of our property with the threat of further invasion and the hint   
that we should consider ourselves lucky to keep what we had, never disdained   
to address him directly -- and my father was still angry enough to have him   
killed for his presumption in wishing to marry me, if I hadn't intervened. 

[frowns thoughtfully] 

--Though no doubt a good deal of that was the fact that he wasn't willing to   
get angry at me and had to take it out on the next-best target. Now -- add to   
everything else the fact that Lords Curufin and Celegorm have taken over   
Nargothrond and dispossed your uncle, who's the only one of your lot who treats   
us with appropriate respect and despite everything has remained a close friend   
of my father's, which I fully admit is not always easy, and the rest of you don't   
seem to give a damn that he's almost certainly a prisoner of the Enemy and may be   
dead -- and ask yourself, why my father should balk at sending Captain Mablung   
in with everything he's got, to smash this place open like an anthill? 

[pause] 

**Finduilas**: [defensive-hostile]   
...He couldn't, anyway. 

**Luthien**: [bluntly]   
Do you really want to stake everything on that? I've not seen anyone here to   
match our best. I'd not set any of your guards against Beleg Cuthalion -- nor   
would I pit them against Mablung, either, Noldor or not. I'm not very impressed   
at all, except for Huan -- Oh, but I forgot! all of your best Elves did go   
with your King. And Beren. I would be very afraid, if I were you. 

**Finduilas**:   
You don't understand. 

**Luthien**:   
I note you're not contradicting me -- not about any of it. 

**Finduilas**: [rises]   
I can't talk to you when you're being like this. Please try to understand -- we're   
only concerned for you, for your well-being. We're not trying to make you miserable,   
we're trying to help you. 

**Luthien**: [earnestly]   
Finduilas, have you ever had an original thought in your life? 

[Finduilas sighs and shakes her head, going towards the door] 

**Luthien**:   
Finduilas! 

[the other Elf-princess stops and waits] 

If it were Gwin -- would you sit here and pretend you didn't know? 

[With a look of sisterly exasperation, Finduilas leaves. Luthien resumes pacing.   
After a few turns she stops, snaps her fingers, and goes to get the basket of   
embroidery supplies. With the small scissors she cuts out a hank of hair from   
one side and quickly begins knotting the short strands around the door handle,   
humming quietly as she does so:] 

Had I the gold in yonder mountain   
where gold and silver is there for countin'   
I could not count for thought of thee --   
mine eyes so full, I could not see 

I love my father, I love my mother,   
I love my sister I love my brother,   
I love my friends and relatives too --   
I'll forsake them all, and go with you 

--Huan? Would you come here, please? 

[She cuts some of the longer hairs from his coat and ties them into her Working.] 

Come all ye fair and tender maidens   
take a warning how you court young men:   
They're like a star on a summer's evening   
first they'll appear and then they're gone 

If I'd of known before I courted   
that love it was such a killing thing   
I'd of locked my heart in a silver casket   
and pinned it shut with a silver pin -- 

[At the last she sticks an embroidery needle into the knots, almost like the pin of   
a latch. She tries the door, and as she expects can open it but cannot pass through   
from her side.] 

Crazy, is it? I'll give them crazy -- 

[loudly down the hallway:] 

What ho guards! Make haste! 

[They come warily up, remembering the last time she pulled something on them.] 

**Guard**:   
Yes, your Highness? 

**Luthien**: [thinks for a moment]   
I don't like the firewood that's been given me. Take it away and bring me better.   
This is . . . much too noisy -- 

**Guards**: [dubious looks at each other]   
Er, yes, of course, my lady -- 

[One of them approaches to come in, the other remaining to obstruct the doorway.   
The first guard finds that he cannot come within two paces of the threshold, as   
though a high wind (or a force field) were driving him back.] 

**Luthien**:   
Good. 

[She closes the door, indicates that Huan should try it, and watches wistfully   
as he paws open the panel and goes through, and then comes back into the suite.   
Luthien nods in satisfaction at this test of her Work, and slams the door very   
loudly. Oblivious to -- or rather unconcerned with -- the growing disturbance in   
the hallways outside, she goes to the northern wall of her solar and springs up   
to stand on the bench in front of the stone "window" on that side, resting her   
right hand on the surface of the carved horizon:] 

What hills, what hills are those, my love?   
those hills so dark and low?   
-- Those are the hills of hell, my love,   
where you and I must go -- 

* * *

**SCENE XXXV**

**Gower**:   
Small, soft, and weak the feathered singer seems, yet let not one forget   
far-ranging flights 'cross the wide world, above the winds, nor yet   
the strength to stand the weather out, in storms, nor withal be overset-- 

[The outside of Luthien's apartments, leading into the solar, where the Sons of   
Feanor are just coming up the hallway with two of the door guards in tow.] 

**Curufin:**   
--What do you mean, it won't open? 

**First Guard:**   
No, milord, it will open -- it's just that no one can go through it. 

**Second Guard:**   
--Except for Huan. 

[Celegorm glares at him] 

Sorry, sir, but it's true. 

[They demonstrate by opening the door to the solar.] 

**Celegorm**:   
So what's the problem? 

[Without waiting for an answer he strides forward -- and encounters the same   
resistance effect that they hit before.] 

? ? ? 

**Curufin**: [frowning]   
Hmph. 

[Luthien enters and sits down for a moment in the chair, then gets up and   
lays more splitwood on the fire before going back to work, apparently laying   
out the colors of embroidery silk that have been provided her for comparison   
across the table.] 

What nonsense is this, Your Highness? 

[she does not answer, just keeps working] 

**Curufin**: [sharply]   
My lady Luthien! 

[again no response] 

Luthien! 

**Second Guard:**   
Er -- that doesn't work, milord. 

[Curufin gives him a daunting glare] 

**Curufin**:   
And what does? 

[Embarrassed, the Guard beats loudly on the door panel, making a very undignified   
racket -- it gets worse, too, since she doesn't respond at once] 

**Guard**: [trying to act as though he's not yelling at royalty]   
Hey! Hey, you! 

[Obviously anyone going by in the halls outside will not be able to ignore this.   
Luthien gets up and walks to the door, slowly, as though there were nothing unusual   
about any of it.] 

**Luthien**: [glancing around]   
Were you looking for someone, my lords? 

**Curufin**: [sarcastic]   
Ah, yes -- for the Princess of Doriath, Thingol's daughter, one Luthien. 

**Luthien**: [serenely]   
There is no one here who answers to that name, my lord. 

**Celegorm**:   
You're standing right there, you crazy girl! 

**Luthien**: [calm]   
That is true. I am standing here. 

**Curufin**: [sighing]   
Your Highness. 

[Luthien looks around the solar] 

Damn! What game are you playing, my lady? 

**Luthien**:   
Oh, I am not playing. Not at all, my lords. 

**Curufin**: [suspicious]   
Who are you, then? 

**Luthien**:   
I am -- she that Beren loves. 

**Curuf**in:   
You can't expect anyone to call you that! 

**Luthien**:   
Then call me by my right name. 

[pause -- the brothers look at each other] 

**Curufin**: [sourly]   
Luthien -- Tinuviel. 

**Luthien**:   
Yes? 

[pause] 

**Celegorm**:   
What -- what's this nonsense with the doors? 

**Luthien**:   
Surely you can explain that as well as I can -- or if not, your brother   
certainly should be able to. 

[Celegorm is overcome with confusion] 

**Curufin**:   
Oh, now, let us be honest -- I have it on the noblest authority that you've no   
objection to being caught and held -- 

**Luthien**: [shaking her head, sighing]   
Finduilas. I suppose she didn't tell you -- or perhaps you're not any better at   
listening than your elder brother -- that unlike either of you, Beren asked me,   
and never held me against my will or spoke me disrespectfully or made demand   
or gave command but was always patient and grateful of my presence-- 

[she breaks off; behind Curufin's back Celegorm winces and looks away] 

**Curufin**: [ironic]   
Sounds more like a tame dog than any proper lord, eh, brother? 

**Luthien**: [recovering]   
You're very brave to mock him when he's far from you. 

**Curufin**:   
You can't do this forever, you know. 

**Luthien**:   
I certainly should not need to. 

**Curufin**:   
You'll give it up in a bit, you'll get bored and regret this, believe me. 

**Luthien**: [shrugs]   
Well, we'll find out, won't we? 

**Celegorm**: [desperately]   
Luthien! 

[She turns away and walks back to the table and sits down. As she goes back to what   
she was doing the camera reveals that she is copying the map from the round gallery,   
with different colors of thread for different geographical features, pinning them   
into the tabletop as she goes. Huan comes out of the private rooms, and seeing the   
Sons of Feanor, raises his hackles, growling in a low voice.] 

**Celegorm**: [shouting]   
Huan!!! 

[Luthien uses one pin as a compass and plots out a radius, folds the thread and   
compares it to other distances, shaking her head with a bitter expression. Curufin   
grabs his brother by the arm and hauls him away.] 

* * *

**SCENE XXXVI**

**Gower**:   
The thing demanded, it may hap, may haply prove to be   
Not all that deemed it, of good fortune -- yet too late too see . . . 

[Orodreth's private chambers -- he is occupied with something that looks a bit   
like six abacuses fitted together three-dimensionally and several sets of writing   
tablets, and not looking at all happy about it: this is not the kind of task that   
is sufficiently enjoyable in itself to be worth anything as a distraction from care.   
An attendant enters the room, very apologetically] 

**Orodreth**: [abruptly]   
Did you find them? 

**Attendent**:   
Er -- no, sir, not yet, unfortunately. 

**Orodreth**:   
Doesn't anyone know where the original records were kept? It has to have been   
written down somewhere -- it can't all have been only in Edrahil's memory, can   
it? So where are the scrips and tallies? 

[he is angry enough to break the unwritten rule against speaking of the Exiles,   
and not to notice his aide's discomfort, or to care.] 

**Attendant**:   
Highness, we're still looking -- but the Lords Celegorm and Curufin are here   
to see you. About -- about that business ... 

**Orodreth**:   
What do they expect me to do about it? Grinding Ice, am I to be given no peace   
nor place of my own to do this work? How are we to keep them furnished with lights   
if I don't know how many we have, do they think? 

**Attendant**:   
I'm sorry -- but they do insist . . . they won't take "no" for an answer. 

**Orodreth**:   
Have they ever? Let them come. 

[He leans back in his chair, sighing, and flicks scornfully at one of the markers on   
the abacus, shaking his head. His assistant returns with the brothers and goes to the   
side of his master's chair, defensive] 

**Orodreth**: [bleakly bland]   
I understand that the Princess Luthien has locked herself in her suite of   
apartments from the inside, as you've locked her into them from without, and   
that the Hound Huan is the only individual she will permit free entry to,   
and that he permits no one entry with him. Is there in fact a state of siege   
obtaining in my sister's quarters, or am I misinformed? 

**Curufin**: [huffy and a bit defensive]   
Well, it's not a siege, exactly -- the suite has all the amenities, including   
water, and she still allows room service to bring her meals, and we're not   
starving her or anything, of course! 

**Celegorm**: [muttering to himself]   
No, she just eats almost nothing and won't talk -- 

**Orodreth**: [grim smile]   
Ah. So it's a Leaguer. 

[long, long silence] 

I'm sure you'll continue to keep me as well appraised of the situation. Do feel   
free to go on wasting my time, though, since you always do. Or did you want   
something from me besides approval and moral support this time? 

**Celegorm**:   
Orodreth-- 

**Orodreth**:   
Cousin, stop right there. If you want my job, then as I've told you, show you   
know what it entails and start doing some work. I don't think you have a jot   
of a clue as to what is involved in it, and how much needs to be done. The former   
Steward seems to have found it easier to keep track of everything the old-fashioned   
way, evidently due to the fact that the people he assigned the task kept deciding   
to reorganize everything by some new-devised system of their own, which they then   
abandoned through boredom halfway through. 

[flings his stylus down on the table] 

You wonder why I'm not the same cheerful soul I used to be? Really? Why I'm not   
grateful for this honor, this sudden ascencion to power? Because I am aware of   
what power entails. You want one small, negligible example of what I'm contending   
with? Apart from the personality clashes, and the fact that my daughter's future   
father-in-law is one of the people I'm going to have to rail at over this mess?   
There are only half the year's lighting requirements in stock -- as far as we can   
tell. So I ought to go and set people quickly to making up the difference, which   
means taking them off other tasks and diverting a great deal of resources. But I   
can't believe that, because my predecessor was nothing if not thorough and I cannot   
accept that either Lord Edrahil or my brother would have allowed things to get to   
such a state, and that means that they're somewhere, only due to the Sindarin-style   
record keeping no one here is certain where! 

[full rant mode] 

I know you think that I'm dull, the way you think that everyone who merely   
supports your lifestyle of leisure and doesn't participate in it is dull -- but   
you know, you know what's going to be really dull around here is if we don't   
have enough lighting this winter -- and that is just the beginning! I've got   
schedules missing for every storehouse in the City. Do you see these tables? Do   
you see these figures? This is what I'm having to reconstruct, while you play at   
being Orome or fiddle around making knick-knacks with my brother's tools -- or   
kidnap native royalty for your perverse amusment. 

[gripping the edge of the desk to keep from throwing something] 

I am trying to keep this City alive -- and I am so far out of my depth I can't   
see shore. I though it could be little different from managing a garrison --   
evidently, however, I was much mistaken. What are you here for, anyhow? You've   
told me to leave your House's personal affairs alone -- surely you're not coming   
to me now to ask me to interfere, are you? 

[pause] 

Just what, in any case, could you possibly expect me to do? 

**Curufin**:   
You could tell her you'll have the surrounding walls taken down-- 

**Orodreth**: [standing up]   
Starless Night of the Gloomweaver! You are not meddling with the structural   
supports of the City, and if I so much as hear a whisper of covert demolitions   
and walls being touched -- there will be a Kinslaying on this side of the family,   
I promise you. You really have no notion at all, do you, of what you're dealing   
with? This isn't Tirion, dammit, the rules of architecture you studied at home   
don't mean a thing when you're working with natural formations of integral stone,   
the stresses and counterweights and bracings--! You don't know which walls are   
supporting and which aren't, and you haven't spent Great Years studying them --   
or studied with those who have instead. Touch the walls, and you touch Nargothrond,   
and then -- our understanding is at an end. 

**Curufin**: [warningly]   
And what exactly do you think would happen then? 

**Orodreth**: [smiling through his teeth]   
Very expensive damages all round. 

**Curufin**: [back to light tone]   
You're beginning to sound like your great-uncle, you know. 

**Orodreth**:   
I'm beginning to understand my great-uncle much better these days. Now please   
leave me to my lofty role as Regent, unless you'd like to be working in the dark   
come Sun-return. Solve your own self-created problems for once. 

[Orodreth goes back to comparing tallies and tablets, scratching off duplicate entries,   
and ignoring the brothers. Disgruntled, the Sons of Feanor leave, saying as they pass   
through into the outer hallway, loudly:] 

**Celegorm**:   
Pathetic. 

**Curufin**:   
--Pathetic to think we're related to him. 

**Celegorm**.   
That too.   


* * *

**SCENE XXXVII**

**Gower**:   
When will is set, on course far-fixed, howsoever rash it be,   
no Power that reigns may check, of Earth, of under, or amid the Sea--   


[The brothers, not happy, enter, still discussing from outside in the halls] 

**Celegorm**:   
Do you think that things really are that bad as he says? 

**Curufin**: [headshake]   
No, he's just being melodramatic again. It can hardly be more work to run than   
a couple of provinces, after all. And that certainly never took such full-time   
investment as he's claiming. 

[nastily] 

--Unless, perhaps, it does -- for him. 

**Celegorm**:   
So what are we going to do? This is -- ridiculous. And it's not the way I wanted   
it at all... This stupid business with her refusing to answer to her real name   
now -- we didn't even tell Orodreth about that. 

[grimaces] 

"Leaguer" --! 

**Curufin**:   
We could break through it if we wanted to, of course. 

[Celegorm slumps down in his favorite chair] 

**Celegorm**: [glum]   
No. It's a lost cause. Even if she would listen to me, she's so locked herself   
into this melodramatic pose of hers that she has to defend and believe what   
she says, her pride won't let her do otherwise. 

[jumps up abruptly and folds his arms, scowing at the fire] 

Damn! but you can tell she's Thingol's daughter, no question. 

**Curufin**: [thoughfully]   
No, I don't think that's it. . . I think she's more reasonable than Elwe, when   
it comes down to it. All right -- say she has some mystical bond of telepathy,   
from her mother's side perhaps, and she really can sense Barahirion halfway   
across Middle-earth. Well, then -- she'll know when he's dead. All we have to   
do is -- wait. 

**Celegorm**:   
What good would that do? She's being so bloody stubborn I'd not be surprised   
if she means to wait to the end of Arda -- 

**Curufin**: [grinning]   
Uh-uh. 

[Celegorm frowns at him] 

--Mortal. 

**Celegorm**: [delighted realization]   
Oh! Right! I'd forgot all about that -- he won't be there, he can't, and she'll   
just have to Face Facts then, won't she? Hah! --How long do you think it will   
take? I don't fancy, what, another fifty years of this namecalling and moping   
and making outrageous Scenes-- 

**Curufin**:   
--Fifty? You're joking. As a prisoner of the Enemy? You've seen what slavery   
does to the Kindred -- I'd be shocked if it was even a year. And then -- it'll   
be up to you to console her. 

**Celegorm**: [residual sanity intervening]   
Do you think I've really a chance? Or will I just be blamed for it? 

**Curufin**: [shaking head]   
No, once she's free of whatever bizarre mental influence such an unnatural   
betrothal has created, I'm sure she'll be grateful --- though she'll never   
admit it: she does have Elu's pride, I grant you. She won't want anyone to   
remember her embarassing foray into madness, most like. 

**Celegorm**:   
And . . . Huan? 

[gloomily angry] 

--I still can't believe that he turned on me. He saved my life at the Sudden   
Flame, remember that? It's really strange that a mortal would prove more loyal   
than a Hound of Valinor . . . 

**Curufin**:   
How can he object, when she has no objections? 

[pats his brother reassuringly on the shoulder] 

And needless to say, with you to distract her she'll have no reason to think   
about it all. Tell you what -- I'm so confident I'll go ahead and start on the   
maquettes for the rings, hmm? Something to symbolize both Houses, the most   
elegant things you can imagine, and of course she'll be overwhelmed, never   
having seen the like here. 

**Celegorm**:   
--Sublime, meaningful, exquisitely-crafted and staggeringly beautiful? 

**Curufin**:   
--You got it. Now why don't you go off for a ride while the weather's still clear   
and clear the cobwebs from your soul, and by the time you get back I'll have the   
rough drafts ready for you to look at. Sounds good? 

**Celeborn**: [smiles]   
Sounds like an excellent plan. --See you in a bit. 

[He leaves. Curufin goes to the reorganized shelves and starts getting down items   
for sculpting, humming a simple melody as he does -- then checks, as he realizes   
what tune it is -- "Ten Thousand Miles", stuck in his head. He snorts, and goes on   
working in silence.]   


* * *

**SCENE XXXVIII (mute)**

[The great solar, in the alcove near the fountain] 

[Celebrimbor, surrounded by acolytes, suddenly gets up and walks away from the circle   
without explanation -- all stare after him, and share perplexed looks when he does   
not return to the session.] 

* * *

**SCENE XXXIX** **Gower**:   
Captive and disarmed, the Dancer of Doriath yet concedeth not defeat--   
lacking her Work, still she holdeth, wieldeth will and power to entreat -- 

[Luthien's suite. She is sitting on the floor with her feet on one of the jambs of   
the open door, her back against the other, talking loudly though no one can be seen   
except Huan, whom she is not addressing, though he is lying next to her with his   
head on her lap as she brushes him.] 

**Luthien**:   
--So first they started trouble all up and down Aman, and then there was the   
business with nobody getting to see the Silmarils because Feanor was trying   
to punish you for not appreciating him, and then there was the Night of Darkness   
and the Kinslaying and then you got abandoned on the other side by him and his   
sons and then you had to cross the Helcaraxe on foot which is personally the   
most insane thing I ever heard of but I heard that you lot insisted, and you   
wouldn't have made it over without my cousins going with you and looking after   
you and so of course! when the Sons of Feanor move in and start doing the same   
old thing, bullying and shoving and insisting on getting all their own way, you   
think they're just wonderful, and you give them everything that Finrod worked to   
give you and you pretend that it was that way all along. Oh yeah, that makes   
lots of sense! 

[yelling:] 

--You can hide around the corner, but I still know you're there! 

[nomal voice:] 

It's easier to say -- the girl from Doriath is crazy, than to say -- We're   
faithless traitors. 

[There is a sound of muffled exclamation and movement from down the hall, as though   
someone started to respond and then stopped -- or maybe was stopped.] 

-- Perhaps I'm not being fair. Maybe you were with the House of Feanor all along   
and only came here as guests yourselves, and that's why they put you here to watch   
me and why you think you can't pay heed to my rights. But you're just wrong, if   
that's the case. You can't claim that you get to ignore the obligatons that bind   
even the gods themselves, of justice and honesty and hospitality and not standing   
by in idleness as someone else does something wrong and pretending you don't know   
and aren't involved -- all in the name of honour. How is that "honorable"? Why don't   
you explain it to me, being just a poor simple Dark-elf out of the woods and all? 

[shouts:] 

I know you can hear me! 

[There is no answer. Shakes her head. Warningly:] 

All right, then. 

[sings:] 

There were three ra'ens sat on a tree   
and they were black as they might be   
Said one of them unto his mate --   
Where shall we our breakfast take? 

--In yonder greening field,   
there lies a Knight slain under his shield.   
--His hawks they do so fiercely fly,   
there's nary a fowl does come him nigh-- 

His hounds they lie down at his feet --   
His hounds they lie down at his feet --   
His hounds they lie down at his feet   
so well they do their master keep! 

**Huan**: [interrupting her]   
[loud sharp barks] 

**Luthien**: [kissing the top of his head]   
--Yes, you're a good dog too. 

[singing:] 

Then there came a fallow doe,   
as great with young as she might go --   
She took him up upon her back   
and carried him beside the loch 

She buried him in morning-time   
and she was dead ere evensong-time -- 

**Huan**:   
[more barking, louder] 

**Luthien**:   
I know, I know -- I know it's no good, but I have to try. I don't know if   
they really don't care, or if there really is a spell like Celebrimbor said,   
or if this is some kind of madness or poison from living too long underground.   
--And it doesn't really matter, whatever it is. I mean, they did all leave their   
families back in Aman, so maybe they can't understand what I feel for Beren -- 

[sings to herself:] 

Oh the leaves they will wither   
-- Roots will decay   
And the beauty of a young maid   
will soon fade away --   
Oh, will soon fade away -- 

**Huan**:   
[small, nonstop whines]   


* * *

**SCENE LX**

**Gower**:   
In these days of order overset, of Misrule's rule,   
the City's lawful lord is reckoned only fool. 

[The Regent's Office. Gwindor is standing much less truculently (but if possible   
more worried) before Orodreth's desk. The Regent looks exhausted and grim -- or   
angry but in control of it, perhaps.] 

**Orodreth**:   
What have you discovered? 

**Gwindor**:   
Aside from the fact that Curufin's so paranoid that half the time he hardly   
seems to trust himself -- which, added to the usual overconfidence and assumption   
of cowed awe at the aura of the family name, manifests itself in some rather   
erratic behavior patterns? 

**Orodreth**: [sharply]   
I was referring specifically to the question of this reported -- marriage   
alliance -- purposed between the Lady Luthien and Lord Celebrimbor. 

**Gwindor**: [chastened]   
Yes, sir. --According to fairly reliable sources, the Lords of Aglon-and-Himlad   
did send messengers east, under the pretext of assigning liaison staff to the   
watchtowers. However, there is no way to ascertain that they were sending to   
Doriath, and not to their brothers, although there are suggestive indications   
from various overheard cryptic remarks and careless talk among their Household. 

**Orodreth**:   
And--? 

**Gwindor**:   
To put it bluntly, sir, I don't think that her Highness of Doriath is insane. 

**Orodreth**:   
No. 

[pause] 

**Gwindor**:   
Sir, what are we going to do? 

**Orodreth**:   
For the present -- nothing, but observe. 

**Gwindor**: [outraged]   
Nothing? 

**Orodreth**: [dry]   
At the present instant, her Highness -- and Huan -- have the situation in hand.   
Unless you believe that you and your following can do a better job of defending   
her than the Hound of Valinor? 

[pause] 

For the present, you will maintain your staff's unobtrusive presence among her   
guards, monitoring the situation constantly and reporting to me, unless the   
situation changes, and not until then. 

**Gwindor**:   
And if that should happen? 

**Orodreth**:   
Then -- I will be compelled to take action. 

[long silence -- Gwindor looks hopeful] 

I would prefer to trust that it will not come to that, that sanity will reassert   
itself over the grandiose ambitions of our -- guests, and that affairs will shortly   
return to such normality of state as formerly obtained. 

**Gwindor**:   
Do you really believe that your cousins will behave with either reason or good   
will? --Sir. 

[The Regent reaches over to flick a bead on the abacus-construct, with a lopsided smile] 

**Orodreth**: [ironic]   
No, my lord. Hence your orders. 

[Gwindor bows and strides out; Orodreth remains staring into the distance for a moment   
before turning back to his paperwork with a sigh.] 

* * *

  
SCENE XLI

**Gower**:   
Like a lasting storm, the world's travail   
about Tinuviel doth whirl, her peace assail   
and all that's hers of rightful honours owed   
whir away, as fallen leaves along the road. 

[Celegorm is standing outside the door of Luthien's solar, still dressed in his   
outdoor gear, fresh from the hunt. Huan is couchant inside, like a sheepdog just   
waiting to hear "Coom by," and Luthien is standing behind him, though one has to   
assume that it's her because she has her blue mantle wrapped all the way around her   
and pulled so far forward that her face cannot be seen, rather like one of the famous   
Mourners statues on John of Burgundy's tomb. The effect is extremely creepy. The elder   
son of Feanor doesn't seem to notice: when the scene opens he's talking away quite   
cheerfully.] 

**Celegorm**:   
. . . And then you'll be queen of greater Beleriand, forever and ever, and we'll   
have the grandest times together, go anywhere in the country without worrying   
about wolves or worse, and I'll have the Silmarils set for you to wear and   
no one in Arda will compare with you, you'll be like Varda herself and we'll   
make Middle-earth better than Aman ever was, I promise. I'll give you the whole   
world, and you'll never be unhappy or afraid or hungry again. What do you say to   
that, hey? 

[she does not answer] 

Come on, Luthien, don't pretend you're deaf, it just makes you look the proper fool! 

**Luthien**: [sings]   
A North Country maid to the City had stray'd   
although with her nature it did not agree   
O she wept and she cried and most bitterly she sighed--   
I would I were home in the North Country-- 

[Celegorm tenses, but no mysterious compulsion kicks in and he smiles] 

--Oh the oak and the ash and the bonnie ivy tree,   
They flourish at home in my own country-- 

**Celegorm**:   
It won't work, I'm not one of your weak-minded Grey Kindred. Listen, Luthien,   
you know you're being outrageous and stubborn and everyone thinks you're a silly   
girl and half-crazy on top of that. Now I understand it's hard to admit you're   
wrong -- I wouldn't like to do it -- but please just -- be reasonable, would you,   
and look at the facts. First, there's the prestige. Can't get away from that. 

[Throughout this exchange, Luthien continues answering his rhetoric with verses of   
"North Country Maid," while Celegorm carries on as if she hadn't replied.] 

**Luthien**:   
But still I do see that a husband I might wed,   
if I to the City my mind I would tame-- 

**Celegorm**:   
And going with that, the cachet of House Feanor, there's the tangible benefits.   
What could he offer you? An empty title, the ownership of a little snippet of   
mountainous lands held completely by the Enemy, and no likelihood of ever gettin'   
it back, what with no army, no people, and no luck. Now, granted, we've suffered   
some setbacks, but my family still holds large strategic areas of Endor and massive   
resources, completely apart from Narog. 

**Luthien**:   
But I'll only have a lad that is North Country bred,   
or I will not marry but stay as I am-- 

**Celegorm**:   
And then, when we unite your people and ours, we'll form an alliance that will   
finally be able to coordinate properly and tackle the problem of the North in a   
rational manner, not all this nonsense of independent commands and whatnot. 

**Luthien**:   
--Oh the oak and the ash and the bonnie ivy tree,   
They flourish at home in my own country-- 

**Celegorm**:   
So there's the common good aspect all covered, and then there's you to think of,   
you can't really be happy traipsing about in rags and working yourself into a   
fret, going off your feed -- you really want looking-after, and I will make sure   
that everything you could possibly desire is yours. 

**Luthien**:   
A maiden I am and a maid I'll remain,   
until the North Country once more I do see-- 

**Celegorm**:   
And finally, not to be arrogant about it or anything, but -- who else is there   
who matches up, just on a personal basis? I mean, we complement each other   
perfectly, and not just in looks -- you've got courage, too, and the strength   
almost of the Noldor. There's no two ways about it. It's meant to be. 

**Luthien**:   
For here in this place I'll never see the face   
of him that is meant my love for to be-- 

**Celegorm**: [tolerantly]   
Oh, you're not still sore at me for gettin' a bit forward the other day, are   
you, Princess? 

**Luthien**:   
--Oh the oak and the ash and the bonnie ivy tree, 

**Celegorm**: [tolerantly]   
You know I didn't mean anything by it, you know perfectly well I wouldn't   
ever do anything -- improper -- to you. 

**Luthien**:   
They flourish-- 

[breaks off at once: when she speaks it is in a very stern and austere manner,   
without any hesitation or emotion, as one speaking in full royal authority --   
or, possibly, even higher.] 

You yourself did not know what you would have done, Celegorm son of Feanor, so   
do not try to unsay the past with untruths. I am only speaking to you now that   
I may appeal to whatever is left of your true nature. Release me and give me   
what I demand, and you may avoid full-out war with my House, and mitigate the   
greater Curse that grows with every treason you commit. 

**Celegorm**:   
But I can't -- you don't understand, just -- please, give me a chance-- 

**Luthien**:   
You lied to me. You don't get a second chance. 

**Celegorm**: [hotly]   
I didn't lie to you! 

**Luthien**:   
Worse, then -- you deliberately used the truth to deceive me. How can you even   
call yourself one of us, then, if you misuse the gift of speech so? 

**Celegorm**: [defensive]   
But one isn't obliged to tell everything to everyone -- it's perfectly all right   
to keep secrets, from strangers, or to mislead the Enemy. 

**Luthien**:   
So I am an enemy. Thank you for stating that plainly. 

**Celegorm**:   
--That wasn't what I meant, dammit-- 

**Luthien**:   
It's far too late for stranger, and clearly you are not my friend. 

**Celegorm**: [winningly]   
I could be, if you'd let me. 

**Luthien**: [sings]   
The hart he loves the high wood,   
The hare he loves the hill,   
The knight loves well his bright sword --   
The lady loves her will. 

**Celegorm**: [cajoling]   
Come on, Luthien, don't sulk and carry on in this -- this ridiculous fashion,   
hiding yourself like some kind of freak-- 

**Luthien**:   
You look at me and you do not see me, Celegorm Turcofin Feanorion, because you   
have never seen me as I am -- only as a rough stone to be polished and made fit   
for your tastes. 

**Celegorm**:   
I see . . . a beautiful Elf who deserves far better than a backwoods reserve,   
who deserves the finest things that civilization can give her, who deserves   
to be protected from fell things, not exposed to every risk and danger in   
Middle-earth -- and at the same time to be celebrated throughout the land, not   
hidden away like a dusty mathom in a storeroom! 

**Luthien**: [passionate for the first time]   
That's what I mean! You refuse to understand that I am Sindar, that I belong   
to this land, to these woods, that they are real and powerful and not some   
worthless wastelands fit only to serve as a place for you to go hunting in,   
and that we have built a civilization in them that may not be the same as   
yours but is no less its equal! You don't know me, you cannot know me, you've   
never seen me in my own dominion, in my own home -- you never risked life and   
limb following the forest's call to find me-- 

**Celegorm**: [interrupting her]   
--Well, not much of a chance of that, what with your father's Ban on us! 

**Luthien**: [half angry, half exasperated pity]   
Before that. You could have come directly to Doriath and paid your respects to my   
parents like the Finarfinions. You could have done us homage, and learned from us,   
and not alienated half the country with your arrogance. 

[reluctant but honest as always:] 

And -- you would have met me. And perhaps -- perhaps things might have gone   
otherwise, between -- all of us. 

[pause] 

**Celegorm**:   
And what would have happened, when Sha -- when your father found out about the   
unpleasantness back in Aman? 

**Luthien**: [shrugs]   
Who can say? It would have been different from what did happen. Wisdom can say   
no more than that, ever. But you chose a different path, and a different self,   
and now -- it's too late. 

**Celegorm**:   
But it isn't too late. That's what I'm trying to tell you. 

**Luthien**:   
It was too late before you set eyes on me. It was too late -- the instant you   
betrayed your Kindred a second time, and Beren with them. It was too late long   
before I entered the Gates of Nargothrond. I would tear down this whole City,   
if I could, to escape from here. 

**Celegorm**: [indulgently]   
Silly girl, that's what the Enemy would do. Whose side are you on, anyway? 

**Luthien**:   
Beren's. And anyone else who's with us. 

**Celegorm**: [cold -- the true iron showing through for the first time]   
Beren's a goner. Your future lies with me. With us, not that rabble of half-Noldor   
and humans and illiterates who refused the Call that's let Beleriand go to wrack   
and ruin. 

**Luthien**:   
You will never win me, body or soul. My heart is with Beren, not here, even as I   
hold his, and you can't divide us, Celegorm Turcofin! 

**Celegorm**: [grinning]   
Don't you get it? For someone who prides herself on being so clever you're   
being awfully dense, Luthien. He's mortal. All we've got to do is wait. 

[silence] 

**Huan**:   
[Low deep growl] 

**Luthien**: [distant and oracular]   
--That is why I could not touch you. Your outward form is still fair, but there   
is nothing left of Eldar within. Refuse the Call? You cannot even hear it! 

**Celegorm**: [confident]   
It'll just be a little while, and then you'll be free of this spell, this   
madness that's got hold of you, and everything will be fine. --You'll see.   
--And you, dog, are going to have to work to get back into my good graces.   
You missed a really excellent chase today, you know. 

[He turns and goes off, whistling. She remains there, standing perfectly still like   
a statue, while Huan looks up at her panting, until finally he gets off the floor and   
starts nudging her to try to get her to move.] 

* * *

**SCENE LXI.ii**

[The Hall of Morning: the late afternoon sunlight barely makes its way down the   
prisms of the roof to the gallery, giving it a strange subdued and reddish light   
Despite the sunset hour there are several people gathered there -- our seldom-seen   
(but sometimes glimpsed) not-quite-conspirators, or most of them. The Sage is   
standing, with a nervous air, and the Scribe has just risen from the bench across   
from the one where the Ranger is still seated; the Guard is nowhere to be seen.] 

**Scribe**:   
Did you succeed? 

**Sage**: [shakes her head]   
I -- the security was too tight. I couldn't get in. 

[pause. They look at each other, and the Sage looks away.] 

**Scribe**:   
You didn't make the attempt. After all the work I went to making the duplicate-- 

**Ranger**:   
--You didn't even try? 

**Sage**: [ugly tone]   
--How many horses did you secure for us? 

[he shuts up] 

**Scribe**:   
What could they have done, if they'd caught you making the switch? Complain   
to the Regent? I told you I should have handled it-- 

**Sage**:   
What you said, may I remind you, was that you were too closely connected through   
your cousin's consort and you'd be immediately associated with any loss-- 

**Scribe**: [nonplussed]   
Well. Anyway, that's neither here nor there. 

[rallying] 

What were you afraid of? The public humiliation? Surely you don't think they   
could actually do anything to you? 

**Sage**:   
No, it isn't as though they've has ever killed or injured another of the   
Kindred -- what a ridiculous notion! 

**Scribe**: [hurt]   
You needn't be so sarcastic. 

[They both look around for their missing fourth associate; the Ranger shakes his head.] 

**Ranger**:   
She was right . . . we're worse cowards than either of the sons of Feanor. 

[No one disagrees with him; the light continues to dim on the malcontents of Nargothrond] 

* * *

  
**SCENE LXII**

**Gower**:   
--Though memory a monument outlasting even hardest stone   
eternal may endure, recollection of what once was known   
is sharpest goad: a path of thorns ever freshly sown-- 

[Luthien is sitting on the side of her bed, still with the shawl wrapped around her   
like a long veil, looking at Huan, who is lying in front of her with his chin on her   
knees. All the doors of the suite are opened, facing towards the main door, which   
is closed.] 

**Luthien**:   
It's hopeless. I can't dig my way out of here with embroidery needles, I can't   
work stone, I can't even command hearts now without access to my Power -- I've   
exhausted every scrap of possibility and I can't see any way out of here but   
divine intervention at this point. But the best I've ever been able to get has   
been divine nonintervention -- and that made no difference whatsoever, to my   
thinking, except to spare my mother one miserable scene out of more than I can   
count. They're going to die, and I'll never see Beren again, and I can't live   
without him. I've done my best -- and that's no consolation whatsoever. 

**Huan**:   
[short distressed whines] 

**Luthien**: [taking his face in her hands]   
I'm not blaming you. It wasn't your fault, and I can't begin to tell how   
grateful I've been for your friendship. I just don't know what to do, and --   
I can't bear the waiting -- 

[she breaks off, her teeth clenched, breathing hard as she tries not to cry] 

**Finduilas**: [calling through the door]   
--Luthien? Luthien, you can't lock yourself in there and not see anyone -- it's   
not healthy! We're trying to help you. Luthien! 

**Luthien**: [grimly ferocious]   
That's not my name. 

**Finduilas**: [exasperated]   
Luthien! I'm not going to call you "Nightingale". 

**Luthien**:   
What do you want -- Sparkly? 

**Finduilas:** [resigned]   
Tinuviel. You've got to talk to someone. 

**Huan**:   
[single bark] 

**Finduilas**:   
And Huan doesn't count! 

**Luthien**:   
Go away, Finduilas, I don't want to talk to anyone -- I'm too upset to do   
anything but cry, or sleep. 

[laughs quietly. To herself:] 

Only this time -- it's true. 

[after a few moments she sings very softly:] 

My love said to me -- My mother won't mind   
and my father won't slight you for your lack of kind --   
Then she stepped away from me and this she did say   
-- It will not be long, love, till our wedding day -- 

[as the verse ends she shakes her head, smiling bitterly and crying at the same   
time. She lies back on the bed and curls up on her side, sheltering her head with   
her arms and does not move. The lights of the City dim in accordance with the hours   
of darkness outside. Huan gets up and pads out of the room and out of the apartments,   
surprisingly quiet for such a huge creature.] 

* * *

  
**SCENE XLIII**

**Gower**:   
--'Gainst the rising tide of fate some strive   
to stem the flood with sticks, with sand: as well with straws --   
no more than such their efforts shall give pause. 

[Orodreth's Household apartments -- in the Regent's private office, his two nearest   
and dearest are gathered around, Finduilas on a low hassock by the fireplace and   
Gwindor standing behind her, gently rubbing her shoulders. Orodreth looks at them   
with an expression tired and sad but fond; the young people keep looking, inevitably,   
up to the desk behind him where a second mega-abacus has joined the first, and there   
is a shape suspiciously like that of a third on the floor behind it in the shadows of   
the ornamentally-pierced lantern hanging overhead.] 

**Orodreth**:   
Were you able to do anything for her? Convey our concern for her? Would she talk   
to you at all? 

**Finduilas**: [shaking her head]   
She still won't answer to any name but the one he gave her, either. You have to   
call her Tinuviel or she doesn't listen. She doesn't listen anyway, though . . .   
I don't understand why she can't compromise . . . 

[the others stare at her, bemused. Defensive:] 

--What? 

**Orodreth**: [very dry]   
What, exactly, would a compromise look like, under these circumstances? 

[pause] 

Between going and staying there isn't much of a third route, is there? 

**Finduilas**: [exasperated]   
Father. I meant, in principle-- 

**Orodreth**: [sighs]   
I'm sorry, my dear. It's been a long couple of bells -- 

**Finduilas**:   
You look so tired . . . Can't you get someone to help you with all of this? 

**Orodreth**:   
I'm afraid that's the problem, not the solution to it. 

**Finduilas**:   
I meant . . . us . . . ? 

**Orodreth**:   
No, thank you anyway. But I couldn't explain what I've got going on here in   
any way that would easily make sense to you -- I barely grasp it all myself,   
and it would just confuse matters worse if I tried to pass it over right now.   
It's like your glasswork, when it's still soft enough to work with -- if you   
tried to show me what you were doing with it and let me take it on, it would   
be ruined before I'd grasped the situation. --But I do appreciate you offering. 

[Finduilas nods, sadly] 

**Gwindor**: [profoundly apologetic]   
Sir -- I -- I'm so very sorry. I -- my father -- he, well, he hasn't been   
the same -- since my brother . . . 

**Orodreth**:   
It -- Gwindor, I'm the last to blame anyone for what his relatives did --   
or didn't -- do. There's more than enough blame to go around right now. 

**Finduilas**: [almost whispering]   
She -- she compares him to the Trees, Father. That can't be right, that   
can't be allowable, can it? What would they say, what would the Powers say   
to that--? 

[Orodreth does not answer -- he has covered his face with his hand, turning his   
head away] 

**Gwindor**:   
Sir -- what else could you have done? 

**Orodreth**:   
That is what we said after Minas Tirith, is it not? Now -- I do not know. 

**Gwindor**: [thinking aloud]   
But -- there must be something -- someone -- someone else -- thus official   
deniability -- could defy them, could help -- her... 

**Orodreth**:   
Do you dare? Will you go, then, down to her door and order aside the guards and   
take horse and ride with her to the Bridge of Sirion and challenge the Master of   
Wolves there, like a knight in one of her mortal songs? What do you think will   
happen to you, then? --But do it, if you dare: how can I forbid you, any more   
than give command? 

[long pause. Gwindor frowning, as though to speak several times -- his expression   
becomes anguished and his posture shifts subtly -- he knows he cannot do it. Abruptly   
he turns, knocking a small table aside impatiently with his foot as he strides towards   
the doors] 

**Finduilas**: [panicky]   
Gwin -- where are you going? 

**Gwindor**: [bitter sarcasm]   
To train in the defense of the City -- is that not my duty? 

[Breathing hard, he goes quickly from the apartments. Finduilas half-rising to follow   
him, sits down again.] 

**Orodreth**:   
Should you -- do you need to go talk to him? 

[she shakes her head, definitely] 

**Finduilas**:   
It wouldn't do any good right now. It's better just to ignore it and let him work   
it through. You know how moody and impulsive he is sometimes. 

[Orodreth nods] 

Is it really that bad? Surely we'd have noticed, wouldn't we, if things were really   
so disorganized? I never encountered any sign of anything like that . . . 

[she sounds a bit incredulous, a defensive response.] 

**Orodreth**:   
And what did you do if you couldn't find something, some needful bit of   
information or necessary item? 

**Finduilas**: [shrugs, not seeing where this is going]   
I asked Gwin if he'd seen it. 

**Orodreth**:   
And if he hadn't? 

**Finduilas**:   
Then we asked around. 

**Orodreth**:   
And if no one knew where it was? 

**Finduilas**:   
We-- 

[her voice goes very quiet] 

--We asked Edrahil. 

**Orodreth**: [nods]   
That is, evidently, what we all did. It's an excellent system, going directly to   
someone who knows precisely what it is you need and where to find it, instead of   
wasting time trying to sort through far more information than you need or know   
how relates or have time to study. Unfortunately -- it's predicated on being able   
to ask that person, and when that is not possible then the system simply does not   
exist. Which is why I am endeavoring to reconstruct it from such small and   
contradictory fragments of information as I have been able to lay hands on. 

**Finduilas**:   
But -- wasn't anything written down? 

**Orodreth**: [shaking his head, gestures sweepingly around the room]   
Oh, lots! That's the other half of the problem. Look at all of it, only the   
visible portion of the floe, and think about what could be buried inside.   
There's a surfeit of information there, and I can only assimilate so much of   
it, so quickly. And I keep discovering things that -- had I known earlier --   
might have caused me to decide other than I have done. For example -- 

[he picks up a large notebook with a well-worn tooled leather cover and lots of small   
pieces of parchment attached to the pages inside] 

I didn't realize, until I found this, that Finrod kept condensed notes on every single   
conversation relating to the governing of the state, no matter how minor an issue   
it might seem. This is a great help -- or would be -- if it wasn't in chronological   
order. So my only option has been to begin at the most recent date and work through   
backwards, trying to make all the connections myself, since I don't know when anything   
that might prove helpful happened. 

[points across to the half-unpacked chests and shelving] 

--There are many, many more volumes like this. 

[shaking his head] 

Some of them have yet other manuscripts bound into them. Fortunately, some of   
the entries have a sort of indexing, a note referring back to previous relevant   
conversations and the dates, so I've not been working at totally blind random.   
But I might as well. 

[he opens to a bookmarked folio] 

You might remember that I put Lord Telemnar in charge of the Borders, thinking   
that as he was originally of the High King's following, and distant kin to Fingon's   
mother's family, that would avoid any of the problems involved in choosing someone   
from either our side or theirs. 

**Finduilas**: [nodding]   
It made a good deal of sense . . . 

**Orodreth**: [wry]   
Well. Only yesterday did I encounter this set of entries concerning the former   
Lieutenant, whose abilities did not, apparently, reflect his age or seniority   
in terms of time-in-grade and signally failed to endear him with his superior.   
The pith of the discussion is summed up in the lines: "Recommended: Can we give   
him back? Suppose not. Oh well. Allow several more seasons to grow out of it;   
if he doesn't, shunt to Armory desk where arrogant nitpicking rulemindedness   
won't hurt anyone." The note appended to this is only two words: "Agree, sadly." 

[flips back to a later folio] 

Now, here, in another entry, I have the summary of a report concerning a lad from   
one of the local villages, saying "Recommended: Instead of fifth citation for   
above-and-beyond, why not promotion? Five past coincidence, indicates either   
extremely good or extremely lucky; in either case, valuable asset for commander.   
Interviewed: Everything said borne out, yet still uncertain of own authority and   
shy of contradicting superiors. Counter-recommendation: Allow a few more years   
getting used to idea of giving orders to elders, then give own command." If I had   
found that before I promoted Telemnar . . . 

[pause] 

. . . it still wouldn't have done any good. 

**Finduilas**: [whispering]   
Because -- because he went with them . . . 

[Orodreth nods, tosses the notebook aside and leans back, sighing; she is still   
uncertain.] 

But it doesn't seem possible that so few individuals could make such an enormous   
difference to a -- a whole Kingdom! 

**Orodreth**:   
It doesn't seem so -- but like water, one takes such people for granted, until   
they're no longer present. The same few individuals who possessed the fortitude   
requisite to withstand the temptations of fear and sloth alike in adherence to   
their duty now prove -- not entirely surprisingly -- to have been the same who   
took upon themselves additional duties, and to set aside their own self-will   
and goals and recreations to see those duties through to completion. --And we   
who are left muddle along half-blindly, trying to recover from the ruinous   
darkness we have brought upon ourselves, but unwilling to dare the necessary fire-- 

**Finduilas**:   
That's almost what Luthien . . . 

[trails off] 

**Orodreth**: [attentive]   
What did she say? 

**Finduilas**:   
She says there's a cloud over the City, but it's in Nargothrond instead of   
outside. She thinks it comes from living underground . . . 

**Orodreth**:   
I'm not surprised she can feel it. But it doesn't come from the caves   
themselves. It began when we betrayed him. 

**Finduilas**:   
Please -- don't, father. It -- it wasn't like Alqualonde. 

**Orodreth**:   
The fact that it was a bloodless coup doesn't make it any less of one, nor   
does the fact that we said nothing against it change the fact that -- we said   
nothing. Finding no one at your back where you counted on reinforcements can   
be quite equally as bad as finding enemies. No, we chose not to fight, and   
with that we chose the consequences, Sight unseen. 

**Finduilas**:   
But what would it have done? Except give the sons of Feanor control over us   
completely, and openly? That wouldn't have been good, would it? 

**Orodreth**:   
If I had stood beside him then -- even I, who fled my post and left everything   
our brothers died to save for ruin -- if even such a coward as I could do that,   
-- who can tell who might have followed? -- what might have followed? I cannot. 

**Finduilas**: [strained]   
You're not a coward, father. 

**Orodreth:**   
That day -- I was. And worse. --And so Lord Beren goes in my place, at my brother's   
side, and bears my duty and my fate, and I have fled to safety, once again, abandoning   
all. And I tell myself that it is better than the blood of Alqualonde on our floors   
and walls, and it may well be true, and is no comfort at all. And I tell myself that   
Finrod forgave me in that hour, seeing that I could do no else, and know it is the   
truth, and that is worst-- 

**Finduilas**:   
But it was for the greatest good-- 

**Orodreth**:   
The greatest good? To send our foremost off undefended, the one of all of us who   
alone knows everything that there is to know about the Realm, about its defenses,   
its workings, of all the myriad connections between this kingdom and the other   
Noldor domains, the strengths and weaknesses of each of us, into danger, and as   
we now know, captivity? 

**Finduilas**:   
I don't understand. 

**Orodreth**:   
There is nothing about Beleriand, about the War, even after the end of the Siege,   
that Finrod does not have critical information concerning the which, the Enemy   
could never acquire elsewhere and singly. It is not just our safety alone that   
is at risk, however selfishly our first concerns may center there. 

[silence] 

**Finduilas**:   
But -- why then haven't they thought of that? Why hasn't it occurred to Lord   
Curufin, at least? 

[aside] 

Or to us . . . 

**Orodreth**: [shrugs]   
I don't know if it's the madness of the Oath at work, or some residual sanity   
preventing them from so much self-deception. 

**Finduilas**:   
--Or Luthien's cloud? 

[increasing agitation] 

No one else seems to have realized it either. If -- he -- 

[she can't say it] 

**Orodreth**:   
--Breaks? 

**Finduilas**:   
--won't we be under attack -- here? 

[her father shakes his head] 

Why? Why not? What do you mean? 

**Orodreth**:   
He can't. He doesn't know how. When he's losing -- he doesn't change the rules,   
he changes the game. Not like 'Tariel, going about it with brute force until   
whatever's in the way breaks or moves, willy-nilly -- 

[absolute certainty] 

He won't betray us. 

**Finduilas**:   
Do you think -- do you think he might escape . . . ? 

**Orodreth**:   
I don't know. No one ever has. But if it were anyone--   
  
[he breaks off] 

**Finduilas**: [frowning]   
But . . . 

**Orodreth**: [guessing her train of thought.   
No, of course I would not prevent them from returning, though I doubt that even the   
gods could say what would come as a result. But in any case -- I think -- he would   
almost certainly leave us to our own devices, to continue on the path we have   
chosen -- just as we were let before. 

**Finduilas**: [slowly]   
This is what he said -- this is what he Saw -- to Aunt 'Tariel, isn't it? 

**Orodreth**:   
I am afraid so. If Nargothrond is annexed by the House of Feanor, then what,   
indeed, remains of the realm he built? 

**Finduilas**: [shaking her head]   
--Is there any way that things could have turned out differently? 

[pause] 

**Orodreth**: [flat]   
We should never have let the Feanorions into Nargothrond. 

**Finduilas**:   
But -- we couldn't turn them away. He said that himself -- what else could we   
have done? 

**Orodreth**:   
It would have been better to give them Minas Tirith and let them hold that province. 

**Finduilas**:   
But that was yours! 

**Orodreth**: [shrugging]   
Perhaps they would have done better than I, perhaps not. --Certainly, no worse.   
But the idea of uniting their strength with ours was a foolish one -- the alloy   
not stronger at all but flawed and brittle, weakening all of us. Yet-- 

[opens his hands] 

I would not make the suggestion, though it was but the rational decision, being   
too proud, too weak, to give up what I held, and Finrod could not suggest it   
where I would not, could not betray me nor belittle me before the world -- and   
thus -- thus left himself open to such betrayal in turn, relying on whom he must,   
trusting us to return that trust, and -- we have all broken beneath that weight   
of responsibility, fallen, under that freedom, and now -- I think perhaps we are   
doomed to betray each other and ourselves, over and again, until not one of us   
has not forsaken the other-- 

**Finduilas**: [distressed]   
--I shan't betray you, Father! 

**Orodreth**:   
I'm sorry, child. I didn't mean that you would. I'm -- I'm just talking. Dark   
thoughts, night thoughts. It's always night here, truly; she's right about that.   
--As well. 

[quietly] 

Do you remember when you were young, and you'd say the stairs were too tall for   
you to climb going up to the house in Tirion? 

[she nods, wary] 

How you'd sit down and refuse to move, and Finrod would pick you up and put you   
on his shoulders and run you up them with you screeching like a peacock all   
the way, and then pretend he'd forgotten about you while you laughed the whole   
time that you were taller than we, to your mother and myself? 

[Finduilas hides her face in her hands] 

When I was as little as that, he'd carry me like that as well. And the rest of   
us too, before I was born, and my sister . . . We pestered him until any normal   
soul would have lost patience six times over, but he never got angry with us for   
invading his study or touching his things, and when we nagged him to show us   
how to make things he never grew tired of teaching, or impatient if any of us   
grew bored, and ran off. I'd . . . almost forgotten those days; what I didn't   
realize was . . . that he'd never stopped. 

**Finduilas**: [almost whispering]   
If -- if we -- if the Ban is ever lifted, and we go back home -- what will you   
say to him? 

**Orodreth**: [not harsh, smiling a little]   
You mean, "If we die?" 

[She does not answer, just looks at him. Calmly:] 

The only thing possible -- the one thing I did not say. 

[Finduilas stares at him, not understanding] 

--Thank you. 

[Miserably his daughter flings herself at him, holding onto him for comfort as much   
as to give it; he holds her close but will not say anything to console her.] 

* * *

  
**SCENE LXIV.i (mute)**

[Levels of Nargothrond between Luthien's rooms and the royal suite] 

[Huan slinks through the hallways, head and tail low but not dragging -- this is   
guilty-but-determined-dog mode. He keeps to the smaller corridors and byways, ducking   
through accidental passageways formed by the natural shapes of the rock when possible,   
skulking along out of sight of people occupied in conversation, music-making, dancing   
and various diverse arts.] 

* * *

**SCENE LXIV.ii (mute)**

[The Armories of Nargothrond. Gwindor stalks through, grabbing a helm and shield from   
the racks as he goes by, people moving out of his way as they notice his expression.   
He does not take armor, only a hefty two-hand practice broadsword. He storms his way   
into the training areas, warriors vacating the area before him as if swept aside by   
the shock of a bow-wave. The training area itself is set up as a ravine near High   
Faroth, with deep rocky gorges rising on one side and the dense green of the forest   
all around and overhead.] 

[Celebrimbor is here, hacking at a far more realistic and active quintain than mortals   
have ever succeeded in making. As he dispatches the Orc-simulacrum, Gwindor taps him   
on the shoulder and dodges the automatic counterstroke. Panting, Celebrimbor gives him   
a questioning look. Gwindor raises his sword in salute, raising his eyebrows. Celebrimbor   
nods; they face each other and square off.] 

[The forest ravine blurs around them, to be replaced by a smouldering field under a   
red-clouded sky, its tumbled surface mercifully blackened into indistinguishable charcoal,   
in places lava-flows still slowly rolling and cracking open to reveal molten insides,   
mountains on two sides of them in the distance and a forest-fire on the slopes of one   
of them. On this brutal terrain the two Elven-lords go at each other mercilessly,   
taking and receiving punishment without effort to evade the blows.] 

* * *

**SCENE LXIV.iii**

**Gower**:   
Pride goeth gaily, astride on charger tall,   
headlong rushing, recking of never a fall-- 

[In the royal apartments, the Sons of Feanor are bent over a workbench on which a   
dramatic lighting assembly constructed of angled and movable reflectors positionable   
so as to obviate cast-shadow problems has been placed. Curufin has been busy for some   
while, and is showing off the results of his work to his elder brother. 

**Celegorm**: [gesturing at the array of reflectors]   
So you finally got that all figured out? 

**Curufin**: [nods]   
I thought it was rather daftly overdone, but once you get the hang of it, it   
really makes a tremendous difference in terms of enhancing the levels of relief. 

**Celegorm**:   
Are the different colored waxes just to help distinguish the separate design   
elements, or are you going to work them in different colors of metal as well? 

**Curufin**:   
Ye-es. 

**Celegorm**:   
Ah. Gold for the flames, silver for the leaves. --Very apt. 

**Curufin**: [smiles]   
Neat, eh? I thought so. 

**Celegorm**:   
I also approve the placement of the dual bands of flames around the inner single   
band of leaves. Very, ah, symmetrical. 

[Curufin grins sleekly -- they are in perfect understanding] 

Now, what do you think about . . . 

[as they discuss design possibilities, Huan creeps in behind them and pads silently   
across the chamber in the deep shadows cast by the glare of the reflector. The other   
hounds look up at him, and respectfully put their heads down or return to gnawing.] 

[Huan goes into the inner rooms and takes down the casket containing Luthien's cape   
in his jaws. He crushes it very slowly, but there is still some noise.] 

**Curufin**:   
What was that? 

[The hounds on the hearth wag their tails and one of them makes a loud toothscrape-   
grinding noise of the spine-chilling sort.] 

**Celegorm**:   
Just the dogs chewing. --Could you fit a sunburst in the middle of mine, do you   
think? Or would that be too much? 

[Huan lays down the shattered box from which CGI darkness is beginning to spill like ink   
in water, and paws it apart. As he stoops again to pick up the cloak, the light seems   
to dim slightly, as though twilight from outside were falling, though that is impossible.   
He pads out with it in his jaws, and as it trails past the other dogs lay their heads   
down and close their eyes, and the Sons of Feanor slide forward onto the worktable as   
though they'd been very tired for a very long time.] 

* * *

  
**SCENE LXIV.iv (mute)**

[The hallways near the throne room and the great solar] 

[Huan glides through again, a cloud of shadow and haze drifting around him from   
his muzzle. Darkness like twilight follows him, spreading out in a widening tide,   
and everyone it touches goes into a trance, caught in pleasant dreams and memories,   
oblivious of the Hound passing, whether they fall asleep actually or not. The twilight   
continues to pool slowly through the City and drift down its halls, carrying with it   
a faint sound of night breeze in leaves, running water, crickets, owls, & nightingales.] 

* * *

**SCENE LXIV.v (mute)**

[Luthien's bedroom] 

[Huan enters, and the drifting cape fills the entire room with nightfall -- Luthien   
sits bolt upright, shocked awake by the change of atmosphere, looking around wild-eyed   
and dazed. For a moment she looks at the Hound and doesn't recognize him or understand.   
He drops the cloak on the floor next to her couch, and Luthien gasps. She springs to   
her feet and snatches it up, clenching it in her arms fiercely. Then she hugs Huan,   
tears running down her cheeks, and kneels before him, attentive.] 

* * *

**SCENE LXIV.vi (mute)**

[The main corridors of Nargothrond] 

[The tide of Eveningspell flows down the stairs and ramps, spilling like water into   
lower levels of the city, even as it ascends like drifting smoke to the levels higher] 

* * *

  
**SCENE LXIV.vii (mute)**

[Luthien's bedroom] 

[Luthien stands up very straight, her chest heaving, her eyes wild. With a sudden   
gesture she flings out the cloak in her arms, so that it carries wide all around her,   
and spins it back over her shoulders. Huan drops down couchant before her and she   
pounces onto his back rather like a kitten, and bares her teeth in a snarl-smile.   
He stands up and she pats his shoulder as though he were a horse needing reassurance.   
They go through the apartments at a careful walk -- when they reach the door Luthien   
leans over as though opening a gate from horseback and takes out the needle, tossing   
it behind her. Huan pushes the doors open and they walk through as though there were   
nothing to hold them back. The camera follows them past the ensorcelled hall-guards,   
who doze or gaze past them without noticing them at all.] 

* * *

**SCENE LXIV.viii (mute)**

[In the Armories] 

[The Spell trickles down and pools over the flagstones past the ranks of weapons and   
barding and helms towards the training area.] 

* * *

  
**SCENE LXIV.ix (mute)**

[The Gates of Nargothrond.] 

[Luthien and Huan pace softly through them onto the terrace, unseen by the entranced   
guards. Evening pours through the pillars of the threefold gate behind them to merge   
with the true nightfall outside. Huan halts for a moment, sniffing the wind, then   
looks back over his shoulder, anxious, and whines. Luthien bends over and whispers   
into ear, petting his neck and he turns back to the trail. He wags his tail once, as   
if in reassurance, and then springs forward at a run now that they are free of the   
power of the City. The darkness of the cape follows behind them, hiding his gray coat   
entirely from view in the moonlight.] 

* * *

  
**SCENE LXIV.x (mute)**

[The great solar, near the fountain] 

[The twilight-like shading of the ambient light evaporates, like diluted ink, as the   
Carillon unfolds and runs through its sequence unobserved.] 

* * *

  
**SCENE LXIV.xi (mute)**

[The training area of the Armories] 

[Celebrimbor standing with blank eyes -- wakes up and looks at the sword in his hand,   
frowns. Gwindor, also standing with his arm hanging by his side, starts and stares   
around, then looks up towards the ceiling, frowning at the direction. They exchange   
looks of dire alarm -- then turn and run through the armory as one hastening up the   
stairs to split off in different directions at the landing.] 

* * *

  
**SCENE LXIV.xii (mute)**

[Sirion River Valley] 

[High angle -- full moon shining down a long stretch of the river northward.   
Silhouette of towers just to be seen on horizon between mountains and forest.] 

* * *

  
**SCENE LXIV.xiii (mute)**

[The royal apartments.] 

[Asleep on the worktable, Curufin stirs, lifts his head groggily and looks around   
blinking. Something is stuck to his face, and he fumbles it off -- the wax model   
for one of the wedding rings, crushed and melted by the heat of his skin. As he   
grimaces, a confusion in his expression that is on the verge of turning into worry,   
a pounding on the door causes the hounds on the hearth to waken, leap up and start   
barking. This makes Celegorm spring bolt upright, tipping his chair over sideways   
and causing him to, if not exactly trip, still collide with the table rather hard   
and involuntarily. Recovering, he rushes over and flings the doors open -- revealing   
one of their Household, wearing a look of Doom, outside...] 

* * *

  
**SCENE LXV**

**Gower**:   
Shattered now, at the tolling of the hours,   
fadeth the sweet tranquility of Lorien   
cast upon the City's folk, the scent of flowers,   
the dreamlike peace and dreaming then-- 

[Luthien's apartments. The door stands open, the guards stand about in defensive   
clusters trying not to look at all responsible for anything. A few poke through the   
back rooms of the suite as though she might possibly be hiding somewhere, they just   
missed her somehow. Celebrimbor is sitting on the bench beneath the North-facing   
window that Luthien used to haunt. Disheveled and rather bloody in his combat togs,   
he looks at the hilt of his sword musingly, tracing out alternate designs for it with   
his fingers as he waits for the inevitable entrance of his family -- now happening.] 

**Curufin**: [white-hot rage]   
--What do you mean, "The door was open and she was gone"? That just can't be -- 

[sees his son] 

What are you doing here? Is -- this your doing? If it is, so help me -- 

**Celebrimbor**: [pleasantly]   
--Who? I'd be interested in hearing who the patron of Kinslayers is, Father --   
though I think I know already. 

**Celegorm**: [breaking in]   
What happened? Where is she? 

[His nephew laughs wildly and hilariously] 

--Dammit, answer me, you little punk! 

**Celebrimbor**:   
It seems -- that your nightingale has flown. The rooms were thus when I awoke   
downstairs at the pels. 

**Celegorm**:   
She can't have gotten far -- get the horses saddled and we'll track her -- 

**Celebrimbor**:   
Do you really think you'll catch up now, Uncle? It's been more than a bell now. 

**Celegorm**:   
What, is she going to fly? She's got no horse, you idiot. 

**Celebrimbor**:   
--Do you think she needs one? 

[they look at him like he's insane] 

Oh come now -- you don't see Huan about, either, do you? 

**Curufin**: [scornful]   
He's a Hound, not a horse, 'Brim. 

**Celebrimbor**:   
--Who happens to be as big as one, and faster than any courser we've owned.   
A horse would just slow them down, I expect. 

[silence] 

**Celegorm**: [doubtful]   
He wouldn't stoop to being ridden . . . she wouldn't dare, surely. 

**Celebrimbor**: [deadpan]   
He's her friend and she loves him and trusts him with some justification.   
It's plainly inconceivable. 

**Curufin**:   
--Leave the room. 

**Celebrimbor**:   
No, thanks, I think I'll stay here for the time being. 

**Curufin**:   
Be careful of defying me, boy. 

**Celebrimbor**: [grimaces]   
Unfortunately, I am . . . 

[enter Orodreth with entourage, foremost his daughter and her fiance, the latter   
standing protectively next to her, still carrying his sword as well.] 

**Orodreth**:   
My lords. This is -- a surprise, I gather? 

[wary Looks all round the Feanorians] 

So -- your Leaguer has been breached, I take it. --Once again, putting trust   
in the strength of pales without to hold within a determined and unmeasured   
force has proven to be -- ah, inadvisable. It seems The Beoring was right,   
after all, as to the repetitive nature of strategy and offense. 

**Celegorm**:   
[inarticulate growling noise] 

**Orodreth**: [glancing around the room, as though sniffing the air]   
Very impressive. Entirely constructive in its nature, too. What an amazing use   
of Healing principles to unblock barriers as well as to foil observation. And   
strangely self-maintaining, too, to linger so long afterwards -- What, didn't   
you know what her Working could do, my lords? You had it to study long enough. 

[pause] 

What extraordinary forbearance, as well. I really -- well, unfortunately I can   
imagine only too well what my sister might inflict on those who had served her   
the same way. It would be . . . memorable. --Quite unforgettable, I should say. 

[The Sons of Feanor stand shoulder to shoulder, scowling at the Regent's party, the   
rest of the people in the room standing between them in uncertain alignment except for   
Celebrimbor smiling mockingly at his folks from the sidelines, one hand on his updrawn   
knee, one on the hilt of his sword, where he leans back on the bench.] 

**Celegorm**:   
Did you know she could do this? 

**Orodreth**:   
No more than you.   


**Curufin: **[turning on the rhetoric]   
You're remarkably blasé about all this, cousin. Has it not occurred to you   
that the Lady Luthien is presently hastening to destruction, alone and helpless,   
while we stand here deliberating technicalities of Art? 

**Orodreth**:   
Hardly helpless, by the look of it, nor -- where is Huan, by the by? -- I should   
guess alone. She can hardly do any worse than has been done so far. 

**Curufin**: [icy]   
You may think this but touches our Household -- but I would remind you, Lord   
Steward of Nargothrond, that she -- they -- must go with certain knowledge of   
this City's location and the ways back to it, which now must all be trebly   
obscured and guarded, and still the jeopardy will not be entirely removed! 

[The Prince Regent only stares at him, arms folded, with a slight, one-sided smile] 

**Orodreth**:   
It is, as the mortal saying has it, far late in the day to be thinking of that. 

[pause] 

What will come, will come. What has already happened, has happened. Nothing of   
your will, nor of mine, can change either in the slightest. All we can do is wait,   
and be ready. --My lords. 

[In the middle of another angry glare Celegorm's eyes suddenly widen -- he has   
remembered something else.] 

**Celegorm**: [aside to Curufin]   
--The letter! 

**Curufin**:   
. . . 

[Shocked realization followed by mutual dismay] 

**Curufin**: [recovering, sneering]   
Well, my lord Steward, such passivity is only to be expected of you. My brother   
and I, however, are not content with that, and we at least will set ourselves to   
such countermeasures, defenses, and contingency plans as our combined wits and   
the resources of our House can concoct. I trust you'll not object, seeing as our   
end is the good of the City? 

[The Regent shakes his head, smiling faintly] 

Are you coming with us, son? 

[Celebrimbor shakes his head.] 

--Stay with these losers, then -- but don't expect me to take you back without   
a full apology. I promise you, you'll soon think better of your stupidity! 

[turns to go, barely under control. Aside:] 

--I'm going to kill her, I swear-- 

[Stalks out, followed by Celegorm. Some of the guards follow them, some start   
to, then stop guiltily, others look at each other, the Regent and his assistants,   
the floor. As Finduilas takes hold of his hand, Orodreth looks anxious, afraid   
to hope, yet unable to help it.] 

**Gower**:   
--Now for the nonce, for little while   
Nargothrond yet remains in habits false-secure,   
choosing to refuse the fearful intimations that rile   
the surface of the current, Time's stream a lure   
illusory, that seemeth ever same and changeless,   
and yet is ever other, ever changes, ever bears   
burdens small and great within its mirrored dress;   
But the Doom, their Doom, is already loosed   
and sweepeth down within the sky-reflecting flood   
like to a baulk of timber to shatter the unwary used   
to calms, driven 'gainst water-gates on tide of blood,   
it comes, and all effort to stave off shall turn   
but to a hastening--   
Of this unknowing, too, but too well aware   
of fate general and dark, for her heart doth spurn   
its confines like rush of wings, the Nightingale no more   
on Narog's selfish shores doth bide -- freed   
of her soft confines by love unmarred of greed,   
Northward she hurtles like a driving storm to fare,   
horseless and needless, fleet Huan her faithful steed,   
swift as swans' flight or the forces of the air   
launched from steam-catapult in the van of war.   
For herself no thought of harm, no terror,   
no more than long-doomed Huan ever of the fate   
anciently set upon him, that "wolf more great   
than ever walked the world" shall be the bearer   
of his destruction, nor the King her kin,   
whose words self-spoken centuries past   
work to their full completing now at last--   
Tinuviel upon the trail doth fly: behind the din,   
the hue-and-cry, mattering naught beside the path   
she follows to its dread sentinel of stone, more dark   
in cruelty and power than twisted shade of Delduath.   
--Like unto fire-arrow loosed against its mark,   
--like the fast falcon falling in fell dive,   
--like to a star that shoots across the vale,   
her soul and self she sets complete to strive   
'gainst Morgoth's haughty servant, though mail   
nor bow nor sword nor helm hath she,   
nor aught of gear of war, or the grim travail   
in years of Leaguer to learn their ways -- only free   
the given heart to raise in challenge high,   
her sword her song, her shield of main-wrought dreams.   
Pitiful to wield, and her only choice to go, it seems   
from prison to prison, and there as thrall to live, or die   
even as her love, far from the fair woodlands where they met.   
--Forward her face like adamant is set   
and backwards looks she never--   


* * *


	4. Enteract Complete

**ENTERACT**

**Gower**:   
Now let your searching fancy far   
across wooded hill and vale   
follow upon the track left after   
like to the storm wind's ragged trail   
of shattered trunk and fallen rafter   
where roil and ruin stir and swirl   
in the wake of three -- but three, alone   
whose deeds, like gods', should hurl   
down lord and land, Power from throne,   
setting at naught all long-made schemes   
of foe and friend alike, all dreams   
of conquest, of defense, all surety--   
Deeds of renown, fearful purity   
of intent beyond any sound constraint,   
whether of reason or of reasoned dread,   
requiring no conjecture to make faint   
the heart where memory in's stead   
sufficient proves; recalling these,   
the darting course across Beleriand   
that ever northward runs, let please   
thyself to turn imagining to stand   
witness to havoc wrought like rising gale--   
increas'd consternation in the minds   
that none might formerly assail,   
and hear the echoes of those winds   
that shake the solid roots of rule,   
the hallways mighty of the courts   
most high-- 

[Nargothrond: one of the hallways along the throne room leading to the side   
entrances -- Orodreth is striding along at high speed, Gwindor trailing along   
in his wake. He flings open the doors and storms through, his expression one   
of absolute intensity, talking as he goes:] 

**Orodreth**:   
I want you to summon everyone in the City, not stopping to discuss why, and at   
once. Assemble them here within the quarter-hour. Set the perimeter here first   
of all. Make sure my daughter's guards are on full alert. And don't talk to your   
father, either. No discussions until I make my statement. Is that understood? 

**Gwindor**: [wide-eyed]   
-- Ah, Sir, when you say "everyone," you don't mean-- 

**Orodreth**:   
--Everyone. Awake, asleep, working, playing, loving -- get them up, get them   
out and get them in here if you have to drag them by the hair, my lord. Every   
last person in Nargothrond. 

**Gwindor**: [breathlessly]   
Y--yes, Si-- 

[he breaks off, it's settling in] 

--Sire. 

[They share a long, bleak look. Gwindor swallows.] 

Yes, your Majesty. 

[He hurries off. Orodreth lets out a long sigh and walks more slowly up to the   
dais, still more slowly up it and to the throne. On the topmost step he goes down   
on one knee and bows his head.] 

**Orodreth**: [softly]   
I will do my best. --And it will never be enough. 

[cut to the now wide-open main doors of the Throne Room from without, tracking the   
Sons of Feanor and their entourage as they enter the now-filled and utterly silent   
audience hall, with an armed escort, not of their own providing. They halt in front   
of the throne, before which Orodreth stands, holding the crown in his hands. Celegorm   
gives Orodreth a vicious Look; Curufin looks around and smiles nonchalantly. You   
can't tell if they know or not, from the way they're acting -- but Curufin does have   
his hand on the hilt of Angcrist.] 

**Curufin**:   
Oh, come on now, was all this fuss necessary? 

[he gestures around at the grim-faced guards] 

You know we don't just come when you whistle, my lord Regent! 

[Orodreth does not speak; Curufin shrugs] 

Well, now you've got us here, why don't you say something, Sir Steward? What do   
you want, eh? 

**Orodreth**: [deliberately]   
Not Steward. 

[silence -- he raises the crown and places it on his head] 

--King. 

[The Sons of Feanor exchange glances, and then lock stares with Orodreth --   
who stares them down.] 

And I want nothing from you. Your tally is up again, -- Kinslayers. 

[The Feanorian supporters exchange looks of dismay and subtly, but distinctly, start   
drawing away from their lords. Now Orodreth seats himself on the throne. When the   
brothers start to try to interrupt him he just keeps talking over them.] 

You will not, however, make me into one. My people want you butchered. If it   
is not unanimous, there are at least no audible dissenting voices. But I am   
not you. Be grateful for that, if you have it in you to be grateful for   
anything. And I rule here. --Be grateful for that as well. Luthien, called   
Tinuviel, has won -- there is no Tol Sirion any more. And my brother has   
triumphed as well, for Beren Barahirion still lives. Witnesses here have   
attested both. And Huan has returned. Your bags are being packed -- and   
checked for valuables -- as we speak. 

[he gestures round at the silent, shocked crowd of Nargothronders] 

Whoever wishes to go with you may do so. I don't care where you go, so long as   
you're out of the realm by sunset. --Don't ever cross the border again, or you   
will be treated as enemies and shot on sight. At which point it will be on your   
own heads, being forewarned and far from helpless. There is neither shelter nor   
friendship for you or your brothers, anywhere in Narog, henceforth. Please   
try to remember that. 

[pause -- the Sons of Feanor look around and see that their retainers are relegating   
them to the "unlucky and cursed" category too.] 

**Curufin**: [smiling through his teeth]   
Oh, we will. We most definitely will. 

[spots Celebrimbor in the crowd] 

You going to remember your family duty at last, boy? 

**Celebrimbor**:   
I don't have any immediate family in Middle-earth. So I'm doing the best I   
can with the nearest I have left. --Does that answer your question, milord? 

[Curufin shakes his head in an expression of contempt. Celegorm, face flushed with   
growing rage, goes as if to step up on the dais and accost Orodreth, and is met with   
the barred spears of the Guard. Speechless, he too turns away after his brother.   
Out of the shadows Huan rises and goes after Celegorm, head and tail low.] 

**Celegorm**:   
Ha, so now you come skulking back to me, you traitor! A little late to be   
remembering your duty-- 

[Huan follows them sadly, the escort respectfully parting for him, not jostling   
him like the Sons of Feanor.] 

**Orodreth**: [raising his voice to the guards]   
Enough! Remember my commands: do not shame my brother with discourteous action! 

[chastened, the escort snaps to professional dispassion and escorts the Sons of   
Feanor out the doors without further rough handling. The King reaches up with a bitter   
smile to adjust the unfamiliar weight of the crown, and his daughter puts her hand   
on his shoulder, moving closer to the throne] 

**Finduilas**: [softly - she has clearly been crying recently]   
--What will become of her now? Of -- them? 

**Orodreth**:   
Only they can choose that, child. --It isn't Luthien Tinuviel I worry for, but   
The Beoring. 

[she looks at him uncertainly; he stares off at the vaulting.] 

For now he, too, has left the Island behind him. --May the Powers send him   
better rest than mine has been these years. 

[she takes his hand rather desperately in her own, as he whispers:] 

The question is -- what will become of us now . . . ? 

**Gower**:   
--most ancient-- 

[Southwestern Doriath: an armed camp, in the greenwood, Thingol in full armor   
coming from his command tent with Captain Mablung as Beleg enters the clearing,   
accompanied by a small crowd of warriors, in camo and looking absolutely grim.] 

**Beleg**:   
--You want the report in public, or privately first, Sir? 

**Thingol**: [sardonic]   
Might as well give it right here and now -- we've done everything else as a   
public show, why stop now? 

[Beleg gives a short nod, goes on] 

**Beleg**:   
The good news is, you don't have to worry about the Sons of Feanor showing   
up to dinner and drinks. Luthien suborned one of their agents and broke out   
on her own. 

**Mablung**: [not-quite aside, innocent look]   
Again . . . 

[Beleg catches his eye, shakes his head] 

**Beleg**:   
There's more. And worse. 

**Thingol**:   
Say on. 

**Beleg**:   
She will not come home again. She's thrown her lot in with him for good,   
and no one knows where they've gone. No sign or word of Master Daeron.   
And-- 

[he starts to speak and stops abruptly] 

**Thingol**:   
Don't try to spare me, Strongbow. --Or soften the blow. 

**Beleg**:   
--Orodreth is King in Nargothrond. 

[Thingol closes his eyes, turning his face away.] 

I'm so very sorry-- 

**Thingol**: [holding up his hand to stop him]   
--I guessed that was the burden of your message. It does not make it any   
easier. --Are there details? 

**Beleg**:   
There are. 

**Thingol**: [not asking]   
They're bad. 

**Beleg**:   
They're very bad. 

[pause] 

**Thingol**:   
Captain Strongbow, could I ask you to keep them until we get home again?   
I'm not ready to deal with so much news right now, for such a long ride back.   
And that way you will only have to tell it once. 

**Beleg**:   
No trouble, Sir. 

**Mablung**: [quietly]   
Sire, what do we do now? 

**Thingol**: [eerie calm]   
--We go home. We go back to work. --What else can we do? She clearly does not   
need our help any more, nor, apparently, ever did. --And if she does, we have   
no hope of finding her, to be of any use. No: we will return, and see if our Lady   
will consent to advise me again, now that I am willing to listen, or if that is   
lost to us too. 

**Mablung**: [diffidently]   
At least he's not a Kinslayer, Sir. You said so yourself, remember . . . 

**Thingol**: [ice]   
He might as well be. Don't speak of him again in my hearing. We will never see   
her again. --Or at least, not as long as he lives. Perhaps she'll come back to   
us after. Until then -- my daughter might as well be dead, thanks to him. 

**Mablung**:   
You don't think -- he seemed a decent sort -- that he'll bring her back home,   
after she's calmed down and gotten over her temper? 

**Thingol**:   
If he does, I'll kill him, and I'm sure he knows that perfectly well. 

[grimaces] 

--Unless you think he's actually going to hold up his end of the bargain and   
come back with a Silmaril in hand--? 

[he slams his fist against the trunk of the nearest tree and sighs bitterly.   
After a moment -- to Beleg:] 

Thank you for undertaking this mission, Strongbow; I'm glad you're back   
safely. Mablung, can you make sure that everything is struck properly and   
that we're ready to start back as soon as possible? 

[Mablung nods] 

Thank you. 

[Thingol ducks back into his tent and closes the flap behind him. Mablung exchanges   
looks and brief hand-signals with several of the troops standing round and they go   
off to get things underway. Beleg sinks down to sit against another tree, rubbing   
his hand over his eyes. Mablung kneels down beside him, looking concerned] 

**Mablung**:   
You all right, old chap? You look pretty beat -- nobody winged you, did they?   
--Not to be insulting or anything. 

**Beleg**: [shaking his head]   
I am beat -- not physically, though. 

[pause. looking up at Mablung, bleakly:] 

--Place is a ruddy mess. 

**Mablung**:   
Us? Or them? 

[Beleg nods] 

I know. --I know. 

[pats the other officer sympathetically on the shoulder] 

Well-- 

[sighs deeply] 

--"back to work--" 

[he rises and goes off to assist in the packing, while Beleg folds his arms and   
leans his head against the tree, closing his eyes.]   


**Gower**:   
--and the lowest low--   


[Angband - the great hall. Behind a column of appalling design and construction,   
two Orcs are carrying on a muttered conversation] 

**Commander**:   
--All right, give! Is it true the Eagles took Fangs away to eat him? 

**Tracker**:   
Nobody knows! He's just gone, like the spies. The downdraft blew away any tracks   
that might have been left around the entrance, and then farther out the stinking   
wolfpacks went charging all the way out over the Plain, so even casting around's   
been a waste of our time. 

**Commander**:   
Hah! So much for "superior wolf senses"! Pack of slobbering idiots. They should   
never have taken my crew off the Gate. 

**Tracker**:   
So what exactly happened? Anyone figure it out? 

**Commander**:   
As far as we can tell, old Sauron wasn't telling the truth -- not the whole of it,   
anyway -- in his reports to HQ. Big surprise there, of course. Yes, there was a   
batch of spies disguised as us that he caught sneaking through his territory. Yes,   
that Dog was involved. But the kicker is -- get this -- his whole cursed defense   
system was blown through, apart, and away, not by the stinking Hound, not by the   
warriors, but by that Elf-chick he's been trying to snag for the past eight-nine   
years, you know, the one whose supposed to be some kind of demi-demi-goddess or   
something. She was the one who did it all, and our prize Sorcerer, I'm-so-scary,   
everyone-trembles-at-my-name -- he somehow forgets to put this little fact in his   
little reports. 

**Tracker**: [growls]   
You mean all those spot-checks of IDs that we've been having, and the random   
interrogations, the flay-one-in-every-hundred and all, that's all been wasted? 

**Commander**:   
You surprised? 

[snorts] 

Come on, were you spawned yesterday? If you don't think there's just as much   
screw-up-and-cover-up at the top as down the lines, you need to start thinking.   
--And she was the one who just traipsed in here, la la la, "Oh my, is this   
Angband? I had a fight with my parents and ran away from home and I'm looking   
for a job," playing all stupid and naive, and -- The Boss buys it. Hook, chain,   
and thumbscrew. Never occurs to him to ask why this Princess just walks in --   
how she got through the desert, where she got the wings, and why in the name   
of the Void she would come here of all Middle-earth. Or -- who else might be   
with her. Huh. And they call us stupid! 

**Tracker**:   
So then what happened? And weren't they in disguise too? I heard it was two   
of them, or maybe three. Wasn't the Hound disguised as a warg or something? 

**Commander**:   
Nobody's sure. But yeah, she came in pretending to be one of Sauron's little   
delivery-girls from the old fort, and a bunch of people say there was a wolf   
with her, which is interesting, 'cause usually those freaks can't stand each   
other, and a few of the lads say it was even Old Long-Tail. Which would be   
really interesting, 'cause that was in the reports that he was dead, and   
if it was the Hound disguised as Fangs' sire, and Ugly didn't even know the   
difference, well, all I'm saying is it's a shame Fangs disappeared, so we   
can't interrogate him. 

**Tracker**: [regretfully]   
Aw, yeah-- 

**Commander**:   
All we know is, somebody got hurt at the Gate, 'cause there was a fair puddle   
of blood there, but there weren't any bodies left. And nobody knows what all   
happened after the lights went out. Except maybe The Boss, and He ain't telling.   
When the Elf-chick started singing, everybody went nighty-night -- even The Boss,   
I guess. --Hey, didja know that Balrogs snore? Kinda sounds like bubbling mud. 

[provides helpful imitation; both Orcs snicker] 

When I woke up, me and some of the lads was first, and there we saw it -- the   
Iron Crown, right in the middle of the floor, with this broken knife next to it,   
and only two of the curséd jewels left -- and you know some idiot just has to go   
and cut his fingers off saying "This doesn't look sharp enough to cut through metal"   
and his yelling gets the wolves going and that was when we realized that The Boss   
Himself was -- had been -- asleep too, cause He jumps up going "--Whuh? Eh? Where   
is she?!" and kinda looking around squiggle-eyed like He was completely stinking   
drunk after a good looting spree, ya know? 

[leans closer, conspiratorial whisper] 

So then He gets a look at the stuff on the floor, and then -- get this -- He   
actually feels on top of His head to make sure it ain't still there! And then   
-- He sees the blood on His hand from the broken-off bit where it hit Him, and   
starts screaming so loud spit's comin' out of His mouth, completely loses it   
-- I tell ya, nobody's heard anything like it since that sore loser stuck Him   
in the foot after we won. Remember that? 

**Tracker**:   
Arr! Yeah -- somebody's gotta do a cadence on this. Y'know, have the drum-beat   
for the crown falls off His head-- 

**Commander**:   
Huh huh huh -- "Thump!" 

[sfx - the amusement is interrupted by a sudden fiery CRACK as a Balrog-whip snaps   
at them, knocking them out of sight beyond the column. The shadow over there deepens--] 

**Morgoth**: [slowly and ominously]   
--So. You vermin think it's funny, do you?   


**Gower**:   
--Fuel   
cast anew upon the coals of war; reports   
gaining in stature as they lose in truth   
--yet in truth still less, than simple fact   
plainly told, of odds impossible, forsooth,   
yet accomplishéd, hazards dared and met, act   
and choice, folly indeed, yet shall one say   
greater than that first folly, striving again   
to break the Iron Lord's iron hold, --nor slay   
Kindred in the doing?   
  
What followed then   
all know, have heard the legends, tales   
sung or half-recounted, how the stolen gem   
retaken was, and then again by sharper tooth   
than any e'er forged by hand or hammer, cut   
with the hand that held it, neither ruth   
nor reason to restrain, ere jaws shut   
in capture vain, that availeth not taker   
nor Master of the same, deadly prize   
that giveth aye power, but withal pain,   
scorching the vessel caught with lies   
and promises of glory, wrought by strain   
of Song unholy to guard rebellion's home,   
mightiest of all that ever was, or shall   
on this sad earth mad-ranting roam. 

Those who had seen the hopeless Quest assigned,   
the mocking promise made, the vaunting boast   
returned, as deemed, in vain, anon did find   
that never word lightly-uttered did dearer cost,   
when Carcaroth the Red-Jawed -- the dreadful Thirst   
whose panting desire nothing in life alleving   
that inburnt stone should ever inflame anew -- burst   
the bonds unbroken of great Melian's long weaving   
against all beings dark and fell, being both Light   
and Darkness blent together, two workings of Powers   
earthly and divine: living, Undead, ancient melded might   
newly fashioned into unholy whole, from the towers   
of Angband where long were held-- 

In those sad hours of shadow's tyranny,   
in weary shame and hangdog penury,   
return the rescued two -- yet now are three,   
with Huan beside, faithful unforsaking,   
knowing not what to find, yet thinking never   
to meet the strong amaze, the outcry making   
hope as of prophetic sign, the crowds ever   
growing in much-garrisoned Menegroth, where   
all needs must gather from the unsure shelter   
of Doriath, seeking defense against a fear   
forgotten for so long a year. 

Of revelation,   
vaunt of the Quest accomplished, yet undone,   
of fatal mystery unfolded, of admiration won   
yet half-unwilling, yet wholly given;   
of the great Hunt upon the borders riven   
of the enchanted wood, of the foe driven   
by furious hatred and tormenting inward fire   
--the tale was told, and told will be in Ages hence;   
as too the last: how Beren took Doom still higher   
upon himself, ceding his life in the King's defense,   
handless to stand battle between his hand's thief   
and his love's father, though hopeless contest   
it should be, and the Deed in ending bring but grief   
to Thingol, that Man despised should prove best   
of friends -- too late, alas! the learning,   
the victory sore tainted with bitter rue   
that mortality win but Death in's earning.   
Nor him alone, before or after, for then too   
Huan at last went to his foretold fate, laid   
dying at slayer's side, and Luthien the Nightingale   
died of heart's breaking like a mortal maid   
in an old song half-forgotten, a foolish tale.   
They judged the file ended, the archive closed.   
--They erred.   



	5. Act IV Beloved Fool: Beyond the Western ...

**ACT IV. BELOVED FOOL: BEYOND THE WESTERN SEA**

**retold in the vernacular as a dramatic script**   
**(with apologies to Messrs. Tolkien & Shakespeare)**

_This finale is dedicated with much gratitude to the authors_

_of_

_The Homecoming of Beortnoth_

_and_

_A Winter's Tale_

_(with special thanks to Lucian of Samosata_   
_and T. S. Eliot_   
_for concrete inspiration)_   


_— Disclaimer:_   
_Valhalla is not mine, either._   


* * *

  
_Note: Complete cast list reserved until end -- too many spoilers._

* * *

  
**SCENE I.i**

**Gower**:   
The hour nighs, of this our task   
its ending -- and of ye we ask   
but thy patience, lending, till 'tis done --   
--Then to say, if we have won   
or, overbold, must make redress   
that have so forwardly transgressed   
and in this glassy square presumed   
to bound, as 'twere the Ring of Doom,   
the very gods--   
With eagles' wing   
outmatching falcons royal, venturing   
our fancy's flight doth mount on high   
to pass the bord'ring sea, and sky,   
and withal Time -- for naught of wealth   
nor fame, nor glory, nor by stealth,   
nor war to grasp at deathlessness,   
seeking but mercy's sweet largesse   
we dare the holy shores of Westernesse--   


[Note: There are two settings -- this Hall, and elsewhere. Most of the action   
takes place here.]

[A cozy family room in Aman, even if it is rather vast and all carved stone and   
tall ceilings, decorated in soothing shades of grey with discreet silver-white   
concealed lighting. There is a fountain at one side which is of the kind that   
is a sheet of water running down a shallow wide channel in the wall, almost   
invisible and inaudible, to silently fill a wide, shallow, rectangular basin   
the border of which is almost flush level with the floor.

[Most of another wall is taken up by an enormous structure that somewhat resembles   
a harness loom, and somewhat resembles a system of barrel vaulting, and mostly   
resembles something built out of raw cosmic energy, and betrays a long history   
of tinkering and loving use. At the moment its main central section is alive   
with an expanse of shimmering light. A majority of the Powers are seated   
around it watching in rapt attention.]

[Tulkas (who might be played by Massimo Serato from El Cid, and sundry Italian   
swashbucklers and sword-&-sandal epics) leaps to his feet]

**Tulkas**: [roaring]   
NO!!! IT CAN'T END THIS WAY!!! THAT'S JUST WRONG!!! THAT'S NOT HOW THE STORY'S   
SUPPOSED TO END!!!

[The rest of the Powers wince at the volume of his outrage. Across from him Orome   
is watching with a sardonically critical expression, his arms folded, leaning   
slouched way back in his chair with his ankles crossed. Lawrence Olivier from Hamlet   
(or possibly equally Kirk Douglas from Spartacus) might stand in for the Lord   
of the Wild Hunt]

**Orome**: [bitingly sarcastic patience]   
That's because it's reality, not a story, Tulkas. Stories can end happily,   
because they're not true. In real life, there's no Power capable of preventing   
people from making idiotic choices and suffering the consequences.

[from the chair next to him, his wife, the Lady of Spring -- who could be depicted   
by Claudette Colbert in Cleopatra -- reaches up and pats his cheek.]

**Vana**:   
Don't be obnoxious, Tav' darling. --Nia dear, why do you make us watch these   
depressing stories? All of your favorites turn out this way.

[to the left of Tulkas, the Lord of Dreams, Visions and Inspirations, (aka Irmo, aka   
Lorien,) sighs deeply and rests his chin on his hands. Leslie Howard (The Scarlet   
Pimpernel, Gone With The Wind) could play the part]

**Irmo**: [sadly]   
I tried. I did try. I shan't attempt to conceal the fact that I don't care for   
her father at all, but I did my best, for her mother's sake, -- and for hers,   
too -- she really is a sweet child, and not in any way to be blamed for that   
confounded miscreant's actions--

[On his left the Lord of the Earth shakes his head, grimacing. He is leaning back,   
but not as much in the sullen critic mode as in the thoughtful critic pose, his legs   
crossed and one elbow resting on the arm of his faldstool, ready to lecture. He is   
played, of course, by James Mason from 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea]

**Aule**:   
You couldn't have done anything, he was Doomed from the start. Look at how he   
threw away every opportunity he had for survival. If someone tries that hard to   
destroy themselves, the most that anyone else can do is -- get out of the way and   
look for cover.

[on the floor, sitting in front of the chairs with her knees drawn up and her arms   
wrapped around them like a child, Nienna (who really should be played by Merle Oberon,   
also of Scarlet Pimpernel renown) looks up at Yavanna, who is seated rigidly on the   
other side of her little sister Vana; the Earthqueen could be well-portrayed by Sophia   
Loren from El Cid.]

**Nienna**:   
Are you going to be all right?

**Yavanna**: [biting off the syllable]   
No.

[At equal distances from the Loom and the fountain is a nook with a sconce, two   
chairs, and a small breakfast table. This is occupied by Namo, Vaire, a pair of   
teacups and a dark, glossy sphere. The Lord and Lady of the Halls should be   
portrayed respectively by Gregory Peck (To Kill A Mockingbird, Captain Horatio   
Hornblower) and Virginia McKenna The Cruel Sea, Waterloo).]

**Vaire**: [sighing]   
I don't mind your sister inviting everyone over to watch the Loom, but really,   
she could have chosen better timing. But I don't like to say anything because   
she does so much to help.

**Namo**: [sets down his teacup and takes her hand in his]   
No, it's fine. I just wish they wouldn't be so loud. I come here to get   
away from people shouting at me. --Of course, they're not shouting at me,   
to be fair about it.

[he lets go of her hand and picks up his cup again -- over it, in a very dry tone:]

--Not yet.

[she gives him a wry smile, which turns to a grimace at the next high-volume exchange:]

**Orome**: [raising his voice and dropping the bored facade for a moment]   
Yes, it WAS his fault. He didn't give her a chance to use her powers again,   
he just flung himself in the way without even the preliminaries of thought   
crossing his brain.

**Tulkas**: [to Vana]   
--You'd better hope you're never in danger when he's around. Sounds like he'd   
let you fend for yourself if a rampaging demon comes along!

**Aule**: [patiently]   
My valiant friend, I realize that your generous and sympathetic nature prompts   
you to defend all instances of courage and loyalty, but not every self-sacrifice   
is equally meritorious. When it is unnecessary, as in the situation under debate,   
it is simply at best a mistake and at worst histrionics. --I'm still not entirely   
sure about the next occasion, myself: I'd need to review it before reaching a   
decision.

**Irmo**: [frowning]   
I really don't think she could have done anything further at that point.   
Binding all the denizens of Thangorodrim within the immediate vicinity,   
not to mention resisting and overcoming the Powerful One in combat, would   
be a severe drain upon even my own abilities--

**Tulkas**: [all innocence]   
--You mean to say you can take Morgoth out, and you haven't done it yet?   
What's wrong with you!?

**Yavanna**: [standing up so suddenly that her chair goes over backwards with a crash]   
Oh, you're all horrible. Horrible, HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE!!!

[Everyone looks up at her, and is very quiet]

**Aule**: [after a moment]   
Where are you going?

**Yavanna**: [very tight control]   
Out. For a walk. Someplace where I can break things without hurting anyone--!

[she strides off into the distant shadows and there is a resounding crash as of   
someone flinging a very heavy door violently open so that it rebounds off the   
wall, with breakages. A moment of utter silence follows.]

**Aule**: [grimacing]   
Ah. I forgot.

**Irmo**:   
Oh, that's right -- he's one of hers.

**Vana**: [rolling her eyes]   
Well, of course! Whose else would he be?

[silence. Everyone looks at Orome]

**Orome**:   
Yes, but I am more rational about these things.

**Tulkas**: [to Aule]   
Go after her and tell her you're sorry, you dolt!

**Aule**: [shaking his head]   
That would be a very bad idea right now.

[this builds up into a double argument, as the focus moves back to the tea table]

**Namo**: [wincing]   
I didn't recall there being a door over there.

**Vaire**:   
There wasn't.

[sighs]

At least--

[pause -- they look at each other, and say together:]

**Namo**:   
**Vaire**:   
--"it wasn't a supporting wall--"

[rueful smiles]

**Namo**:   
Did you ever get an explanation of all that?

**Vaire**:   
An explanation? Yes. --One that made sense? I'm afraid the answer is no.

**Namo**: [scowling]   
You weren't being mocked, dear?

**Vaire**:   
No, not at all -- it was offered quite sincerely. I just don't believe   
it's possible, but I'm not sure what the real alternative would look like.

[Her husband shakes his head, snorting]

I made the mistake of asking one of them to show me how it was done, and I   
forgot it was the one who doesn't want to be noticed, so I had to pretend   
that I didn't realize it, or how nervous he was. --It really is disproportionate,   
isn't it? By comparison, I mean. You wouldn't think, considering who else is   
here, the amount of trouble so few could cause . . .

[sighs]

I'm afraid I lost my temper rather the last time someone started in about the   
usual, "Why are they permitted to carry? Why is no one else allowed a retinue?"   
and was very cross about it -- I actually said, in far too short a tone, "Because   
we're capricious and we enjoy playing favorites, that's why." Now I'm rather   
afraid it won't be recognized as sarcasm. What I should have said--

[another rueful smile]

--was, "It's an experiment of my sister-in-law's; she's trying to see how many   
idiotic questions it will take to completely destroy all vestiges of my patience."

[After a moment Namo lifts his eyebrows and gives a short chuckle, before patting   
her hand.]

Who knows? It might even be true.

**Namo**:   
No, I . . . I think she'd mention it, if she were doing anything of the sort.

[from the other side of the room]

**Tulkas**: [loud]   
But look, you've got to take into account all the things going against him--

[the Lord and Lady of the Halls share another wince as the camera shifts back   
to the raging debate by the Loom]

On the one hand you've got the rebels giving up defending his homeland, so   
does he give up? No, he keeps on trying even though there's nothing in it   
for him any more -- and does a smashing job of it, too, I want to make known.   
And you know I'm hard to impress when it comes to fighting--

**Orome**: [ironic]   
--Easily impressed when it comes to pretty much everything else, though.

**Tulkas**: [louder]   
--On the other hand you've got him making a decent go of it with no help,   
and no resources whatsoever -- and sticking to his ideals, too, all the way   
up to when they were betrayed. None of this, "Oh, we're the great Lords of   
the West, here to save you, so give us dinner and why don't you bake us a   
cake while you're at it," Returning nonsense.

**Orome**: [exasperated]   
You're exaggerating grossly again--

**Tulkas**: [ignoring him]   
And on the other hand, he's just a Man. Not even an Elf! And look what he did!

**Orome**: [snippy]   
What other hand? Most people only start out with two.

**Tulkas**: [ignoring him]   
You'd think we could have managed to give him a little more help, couldn't   
we? Couldn't we? Like something useful, like messages -- and messengers --   
that get there in time--

[to Irmo]

-- not that I'm saying it wasn't kind of you to help his friend find him,   
but it's not like it actually made any difference, eh? Or how about something   
specific, like Don't Go On That Hunt, Dummy, -- instead of more nightmares   
about overfed rogue Ainur?

[as if remembering something unpleasant, Aule shakes his head and snaps his fingers]

**Irmo**: [angry/upset]   
I told you, don't blame me -- it's hard enough without the Trees, but there's   
nothing I can do with people who simply refuse to sleep. If they won't rest   
long enough for me to reach them, or keep creating so many images of Doom on   
their own that they can't tell them apart -- I can't give them any guidance.

**Tulkas**:   
So basically, what you're saying is, you can only help people who don't   
really need it.

**Irmo**:   
That isn't fair--

[An elegant, confident individual, perhaps played by Sir Alec Guiness from   
Kind Hearts and Coronets, appears discreetly beside Aule's chair and gives   
him a graceful bow]

**Aule's Assistant:**   
Yes, my lord?

**Aule**:   
Would you go and make sure all the storm-doors and shutters are closed   
around the place? I don't want the firepits getting flooded out again this time.

**Aule's Assistant**:   
Of course, sir. --Ah, are you anticipating a recurrence of last year's   
gales this season, or is it merely precautionary, milord?

**Aule**:   
Anticipating. Very definitely anticipating.

**Assistant**:   
Oh dear.

[pause]

If I may make so bold, my lord, the Lady's temper can be quite trying at times.

**Aule**: [shaking his head with a gloomy look]   
Eh. It's partly my fault again. --I just hate it when she gets together and   
commiserates with Uinen. They encourage each other in this pointless emotionalism,   
and the electrical storms and the flooding make it so blasted difficult to get   
anything done. --Do you know what that project is they're working on together?

**Assistant**:   
Something about salt. That's all the information I have, sir -- she asked me   
for information about materials that would combine well with salt.

**Aule**: [nods]   
--Oh, that's right. They're studying "toxicity levels and self-sustaining   
filtration systems in marginal areas," as I recall. I should ask her how that's   
coming along. That would be a nice thing to do.

**Assistant**:   
A noble and conciliating gesture, sir.

**Aule**:   
--Have you seen my wife's secretary around anywhere?

[his aide gives a derisive laugh]

**Assistant**:   
He's probably off watching frogs turn into tadpoles or talking to potato-beetles   
or something like that.

**Aule**: [frowns]   
Isn't it the other way 'round?

[shaking his head]

I don't remember. Anyway -- tell him to tell her I'm sorry, all right?

**Assistant**:   
Very good, sir.

**Aule**:   
And don't forget the skylights!

**Assistant**:   
Of course not, my lord.

[he vanishes as quietly as he came]

**Tulkas**: [loudly offended]   
Yeah? Well, -- none of my champions have gone over to the other side!

**Orome**: [ice -- not quiet, either]   
Celegorm Feanorion has NOT been my responsibility since the Rebellion.

**Tulkas**:   
Good try, but you can't wiggle out that easy. If you'd done your job right   
he wouldn't have rebelled now would he? Huh? Got a snappy comeback for that one?

**Orom**e: [shaking his head]   
What my sister sees in you I will never know.

[pause]

**Tulkas**:   
That's pretty good, actually. --I need a drink to clear my mind.

**Orome**:   
You always need a drink, if that's the case.

**Irmo**: [raising his voice]   
--Can we please at least endeavor to keep this discussion both civil and to   
the point?

**Vana**:   
I do hope you didn't mean that as a serious question, Irmo darling.

[Back at the tea table, the Weaver rests her forehead on her hand, laughing in   
spite of herself, and in dismay]

**Vaire**:   
Are you sure you don't want me to stay here and you go on the floor? Though   
it won't be any quieter, I'm afraid. I do wish it weren't against the Rules   
to manifest corporeally in several places at the same time. I wonder how one   
would go about doing so . . .?

**Namo**:   
It -- seems like the sort of thing that would be very inadvisable. Which is   
very likely why there's a Rule about it.

[frowns still more]

--Which you would your mind be in? Wouldn't the rest just be puppets then? Or   
would you divide your concentration among all of you? I'm not sure either.

**Vaire**: [smiles]   
And a divided concentration is just the problem. So do you want me to stay by   
the stone while you take my shift?

[Her husband shakes his head]

**Namo**:   
No, I really don't have the patience for any more complaints right now.

[deep sigh]

Did I tell you about my last conversation with that fellow, the one who's   
always going on and on -- inaccurately -- about being the First Casualty   
in Beleriand?

**Vaire**: [interested]   
No, I don't believe you did.

**Namo**:   
We talked -- and talked, and talked, and he agreed with complete sincerity   
that yes, murder was a terrible thing, and yes, there is a moral responsibility   
as well for actions which, though not directly causing the deaths of specific   
individuals, nevertheless are both freely chosen and known in advance to be   
likely to cause casualties -- such as, for example, shooting fire-arrows into   
adjacent buildings to distract the defenders from their efforts, regardless of   
the fact that people are almost certain to be in those buildings, and not   
necessarily able to get out of them in time. And we talked about how Morgoth   
regards people as chattel in a similar way, and how persons are not things to   
be used and/or discarded for one's own purposes, and about the irony of performing   
such actions in a reaction against the behaviour of the Enemy.

[odd smile]

And after all that, he said to me, "But they deserved it."

[the Weaver sighs, and raises her eyebrows with a wry expression]

**Vaire**:   
That does sound familiar, doesn't it?

**Namo**: [pensively]   
You know, it's one thing to know intellectually that this is going to go on --   
and on -- and on, for the foreseeable future, and -- quite another to experience   
it day after day after endless day.

[his wife smiles sadly at him and gives his hand one last squeeze before getting up   
and leaving the table. The crystal ball on the table begins to glow.]

**Namo**:   
Oh good, someone's checking in. Perhaps they've got him.

[He sets down his tea and pulls the palantir over to him eagerly. Vaire walks across   
to the Loom, weaving on mostly unobserved by the debaters]

**Vaire**:   
Is anyone still watching this?

[nobody except her sister-in-law even notices her question]

**Nienna**:   
Please leave it open, would you?

**Vaire**:   
Not a problem, just fold it up when you're done.

[she leaves, stopping to patch up the irregular hole in the wall -- which looks rather   
like what happens when a tree grows through a slab, only fast enough that the edges   
are still sharp and not eroded away -- with a wave of her hand, on her way to the   
tall pointed arch that is the actual door.]

**Vana**:   
Well, I thought he was rather cute, even if he was rather stupid --

[to her husband]

--rather like one of the puppies, hm?

**Orome**:   
My dear, puppies usually don't manage to leave scores of casualties behind them   
as a consequence of their mistakes.

[she gives him a little swat and makes a face at him]

**Tulkas**: [roaring]   
CONSEQUENCES?!? If you're going to talk about consequences, what about the   
consequences of us not catching Morgoth? Huh? Huh? Before you start throwing   
big words like "consequences" around, what about the consequences of not   
providing adequate inspiration? In the Song, do I have to do it ALL myself   
to get anything done RIGHT?

[the Lord of the Hall winces and puts a hand to his temple]

**Namo**:   
I'm sorry, I didn't hear you. What was that again?

**Irmo**: [raising his voice too]   
I'm getting tired of hearing you talk about something you don't and can't possibly understand--

**Namo**:   
A dog? What do you mean, a dog? Kelvar don't belong here, they don't need to   
come here, they can just start right over again -- you know that! Tell it to   
go home. --I don't care what size it is, it still doesn't belong here. Unless   
it's that rogue in disguise. Of course I'm joking. No, we haven't got him yet.   
--Yes, that's why I'm in a bad mood. --Just take care of it, will you?

[he leans back, closing his eyes and shaking his head]

**Aule**: [cool voice of reason -- and sarcasm]   
Thank you for letting us know how you feel about it, Lord Astaldo. --Getting   
back to my earlier point -- I don't believe you can legitimately give someone   
credit for what they can't help. If the deed's done under any kind of a   
compulsion, it's invalidated to some extent. Obviously there's a compulsion   
operating here to fling one's self between other individuals -- regardless of   
longevity or depth of personal attachment -- and danger. If one cannot prevent   
one's self from getting in harm's way, the correct response -- and again, I'm   
going on logic here -- isn't admiration, but rather pity.

**Tulkas**:   
Oh, come on! He practically slaps Morgoth upside the head, and you can't even   
manage a "Good job, what!"

**Vana**: [mischievous]   
Well, he did hit Morgoth in the head, only it wasn't exactly on purpose . . .

**Orome**: [innocently]   
Hey, Aule -- what's that you always say about using the right tools for the job?

**Tulkas**:   
Yeah? Well let me tell you, your fancy tools wouldn't help either of you very   
much out in the Void! You should try it sometime, fighting like real gods with   
nothing but your bare power--

**Orome**:   
--Speaking of which, don't you get chilly running around in just a skirt?

**Tulkas**:   
It's not a skirt, it's a kilt, you dimwit! How many times have I told you that?

[Vana giggles and hides it by snuggling against Orome's shoulder]

**Irmo**: [sternly and loudly]   
These insults are utterly pointless! Can we have some intellectual discussion, please?!

**Namo**: [shouting louder than any of them]   
Irmo! Nienna! Everybody!

[when he has their attention -- normal tone:]

Would you all please either stop acting like Eldar or go someplace else   
and argue? If you can't keep your voices down I'm going to have to ask you   
to take it to the Mahanaxar. You're not even watching the Loom any more.

[there are guilty looks among his colleagues and kin -- considering glances are   
exchanged. Consensus -- No, they can't keep it down. They start getting up to leave]

**Vana**: [rolling her eyes]   
"Acting like Eldar," indeed! --Honestly--

[they vanish, leaving the chairs behind]

**Namo**: [muttering to self]   
I suppose there's a certain logic to it, but I hate it when catastrophes   
happen in cascades like this. They seem to bring on unrelated incidents, as   
though chaos has come back into fashion all of the sudden.

[he gets up and starts pacing up and down restlessly, obviously not happy at not   
being able to do anything -- then notices Nienna still curled up in front of the Loom]

Nia, I could really use a little help right now. We have a crisis situation   
going on, the trauma department is overwhelmed with new arrivals, there's a   
discorporate rogue Ainu out there it looks like I'm going to have to track   
down personally, now I hear some kind of bizarre bureaucratic foul-up is   
giving my security people fits -- and you're watching the news.

**Nienna**: [patient annoying-sibling mode]   
-- Don't worry, I'm on it, I've got the situation in hand.

**Namo**: [flings up his hands and walks back to his chair]   
Fine. I give up. It's not as though anyone ever listens until it's too late.

[sinking down with a sigh]

What next . . . ?

* * *

**SCENE I.ii**

  


[Elsewhere: outside the Halls of Mandos, in the perpetual twilight at the roots   
of the mountains. A series of low, shallow, wide stone steps leads up to the   
most imposing doors that have ever been built, or will be. No one is present,   
until Luthien enters (quite literally from the shadows) at the foot of the   
staircase. Like all the shades in the underworld, where everything is in shades   
of grey, she does not look "ghostly", i.e. translucent and out-of-place -- this   
place is made for them, after all; it's the living who would appear not to belong   
properly. She looks neatly but simply dressed, rather as she would have at the   
beginning of the play, but without any jewelry and her face is haggard.]

**Luthien**:   
Well. Here we are.

[she looks up at the Doors and gives a huge sigh]

The end of the journey. Nothing could be easy, could it?

[she gives an odd laugh, shaking her head]

The doors are closed -- I could still turn back now, perhaps even go home,   
or not: this isn't horrible, or particularly frightening. I've given up   
everything, for him, or so they'd say -- and it doesn't feel that way at all.   
It seems as if I could reach out my hand and take hold of the very elements   
of the universe like a skein of yarn this way, or see through to the Fire at   
the heart of everything, if I only looked hard enough, as if I could become   
anything I chose -- a tree, or an Eagle, or a Hound like Huan, or even one   
of the stars . . .

[she wraps her arms around herself and shivers, beginning to walk back and forth   
as she talks to herself, moving up and down the lower terraces of the stairs]

I don't have to go through with this -- no one is going to take this decision   
away from me -- and that's why I have to.

[Her appearance shimmers and flickers while she paces, eventually mostly settling   
to the bobbed haircut and shadowcloak of her journeying, the former somewhat   
longer (and wilder) than when last we saw her.]

Everything seems so distant, small and delicate and quite irrelevant, like   
the city I saw from the air. Not compared with the whole cosmos lying open   
to explore. --But that tiny little flower of a city is full of people, each   
with a life that's important to someone else, too, and things they've done   
and learned and new songs they've made, even if I couldn't see that. And I   
know that Middle-earth is important, even if it seems such a small part of   
the Music I can almost hear now.

[smiling wryly]

That's it, isn't it, the Song itself that's calling me to join in it, to be   
like a god myself, to make, and change the world, and once again do one better   
than my mother, even if no one ever knows it. Couldn't I do better than the   
rest of them, since I know how it is out there, since I've lived through it --   
and died -- all of it, the good -- the gloriously good -- as well as the   
unspeakably horrible -- couldn't I move through it and speak through it and   
change it like the Lord of the Sea? And wouldn't that be a better memorial   
to Beren than staying here as a ghost, giving up my endless life and the   
whole wide world outside, to be with him, if only they'll let me?

[shaking her head]

I know what he'd say. And then we'd fight.

[gesturing with her hands]

If only I'd come straight to the Halls -- it can't be this hard for everyone,   
can it? -- and then I could have just answered when they asked me, and I wouldn't   
have to think about it. But this -- there's no getting away from this, that   
once I cross that threshold, there's no going back -- even if Lord Mandos   
would let me. I can't just keep going on momentum alone, not stopping to think   
about it.

[pause]

And I'm afraid. I don't know what will happen, I don't know what I'll say,   
I don't know what they'll say. I might make things worse for him this way,   
though I can't think how. And if they refuse, what happens then? How can I   
stay there forever, knowing that I couldn't save him, and with no place left   
to go -- no action I can take, nothing to do but wait for the world to end to   
put an end to my pain? I thought nothing could be worse than the prospect of   
going home to my parents in failure --

[checks, looking dismayed]

--but what if they send me back? I can't stay there with what they did to us,   
dealing with that guilt and sentimentality and trying to make it up to me by   
being kind -- I really would go mad within a year of that. If they'd shown   
Beren some pity at the outset -- or thought at all about me instead of   
themselves -- this wouldn't have happened. But I won't be the victim to   
their consciences.

[she snorts, starting to get angry]

I'll go live as a hermit in the Seven Rivers district before that, or maybe   
go to the Havens and see the Ocean for real finally, or try to cross the   
mountains and find Celeborn and Galadriel and their following. I can do that   
now, or at least I have as good a chance as anyone does. I don't need anyone   
else in the world, if I can't have Beren, and if they "need" me that's just   
too bad!

[she wipes her eyes roughly, and gives an ironic smile.]

Silly, silly, silly -- getting all upset over possibilities that haven't even   
happened yet, and that I've no way to judge the most likely. I'm so tired of   
it all . . . only I'm not, or maybe I am. --But I can't stop, and I'm afraid   
to go forward, and no one can help me now.

[she stands still for a moment, looking up the steps, and squares her shoulders.]

Well. I didn't get this far waiting for people to open doors for me.

[starts to approach the Doors, hesitates again.]

Oh, I wish you were with me, Huan. But this isn't like last time: I'm afraid   
it won't end happily. -- Then again, I can't think of a single story that does.   
Not the true ones, at least.

[Sighs.]

No more disguises. No more tricks. All I can do is tell the truth now, and   
hope that that's enough.

[She casts her cloak down on the steps: it melts and vanishes into the shadows]

Beren -- I'm here.

[She strides towards the Doors, and they melt away in front of her as she enters   
the Halls of Mandos.]

* * *

**SCENE I.iii.**

  


[The Hall.]

[Namo is sitting pensively by the palantir, fiddling with his teacup. Nienna   
is still on the floor in front of the Loom, watching with an odd, almost-pleased   
expression. An Elvish-looking individual (who could be played by Ewan MacGregor   
from the second Star Wars series) enters the hall and crosses quickly to where   
she is sitting. Ordinarily he seems like he'd be rather cheerful and self-possessed,   
but right now he's looking rather harassed and frayed, and it comes through when   
he addresses her:]

--Master, everything's in chaos, nobody knows what to do, everyone's asking   
me for advice, some people are continuing to complain about certain other   
people and refusing to countenance the possibility that their problems just   
might not be as serious as those who have just come in and demanding to see   
the Lady of the Halls at once, and they're all unhappy with me because I'm   
not you!

**Nienna**:   
Apprentice mine, have you considered how much worse matters could be?

**Nienna's Apprentice**:   
Er -- no, I haven't, m'lady.

**Nienna**:   
Why don't you do that?

**Apprentice**:   
Was that a question question, or a suggestion question?

**Nienna**:   
What do you think?

**Apprentice**:   
Both.

**Nienna**:   
Let me know when you have an answer; I'll be interested in hearing it.

**Apprentice**:   
Certainly. But none of this helps with the fact that everything's in chaos   
and I really need Lady Vaire and she can't be everywhere at once!

[Nienna sighs]

**Apprentice**:   
I know. I don't really need the Lady of the Halls, I just need to keep   
reminding myself that I have been delegated the authority and I do have   
the intelligence to solve small problems on my own and the confidence to   
not be overwhelmed by the troublemakers along with it. --But there are   
just so bloody many of them!

**Nienna**:   
You want me to come rescue you.

**Apprentice**:   
No. Well, yes. But not really. I want to be rescued, but I don't want the   
consequences of being rescued, to wit -- losing even more ground to the   
insufferable Feanorians and looking a total fool in front of everyone else   
and causing increased doubt and discord as a result. --I'm going back to   
work. Thank you.

[he starts to walk away]

**Namo**: [sighing]   
When you said you had everything under control, I should have known that meant   
you were delegating.

**Nienna**:   
Of course. Micromanagement is poor Melkor's besetting weakness.

[her brother closes his eyes and rubs his temples. Halfway to the door the   
Apprentice halts in mid-stride, pivots on his heel and hurries back over]

**Apprentice**:   
I almost forgot completely -- Sir, there's a young lady here who insists on   
seeing you personally and immediately. She says her mother used to work for   
your brother.

**Namo**: [looking blank]   
So why does she want to see me instead of Irmo?

**Apprentice**: [delicately]   
Er -- because she's here.

**Namo**:   
Oh. You mean she's discorporate. Why can't you just say so?

[the Apprentice winces a little]

Can you tell her I'm in the middle of about six different things and I will   
see her as soon as I can?

**Apprentice**:   
I've done that.

**Namo**:   
Can you explain that things are not going well and that while everyone's   
problems are important, not all of them are crises?

**Apprentice**:   
That too.

[Namo sighs]

She really won't take no for an answer. I keep giving it to her, and she   
keeps refusing it.

**Namo**:   
Can you tell her it isn't fair to the others ahead of her?

**Apprentice**:   
She says it's a matter of justice, and she refuses to go until her case is heard.

**Namo**: [shaking his head]   
Wait, wait, what do you mean -- "go" --? People don't just come and go from   
my Halls without leave.

**Apprentice**:   
Well, she apparently came on her own. It seems her consort was one of the   
recently admitted.

**Namo**: [snorts]   
Did you tell her her case was hardly unique?

**Apprentice**:   
I did, Sir -- but I'm not entirely sure I was correct. She doesn't seem to   
have come in the normal way at all. There was some peculiar talk about   
Thorondor and "hitching a ride" -- a quaint turn of phrase which I believe,   
though I'd have to consult the Archives to be sure, derives from a mortal   
practice concerning a crude form of wheeled vessel known as, erm, a "cart."   
I confess that ordinarily I would simply dismiss it as the normal, ah,   
post-discorporation trauma, or possibly prior mental derangement -- but   
there's something about her that causes me to be uncertain of that diagnosis.

[pause]

She really is very insistent, Sir.

[pause]

**Namo**:   
You're intimidated by her.

[Nienna's student makes as though to deny it, with indignation -- and then sighs]

**Apprentice**:   
Frankly, my Lord, yes. In all honesty -- she reminds me of Feanor.

[silence]

**Namo**: [shaking his head]   
No. There cannot be two Eldar in the universe that obliviously self-centered   
and full of destructive energy. I refuse to believe it. Ea would disintegrate.

**Apprentice**:   
It's the obdurate refusal to be put off. --And the way she sounds totally   
believable saying the most insane things.

**Namo**:   
What are her names?

**Apprentice**:   
She only gave one -- "Nightingale." --She said it as though it should mean   
something, when I asked her who she was, and she told me her maternal   
parent was formerly in the employ of your sibling.

**Namo**: [musing]   
Nightingales, nightingales -- why do they sound familiar?

**Apprentice**: [hopefully]   
I could go check the Archive, if you'd like.

**Namo**: [snorts]   
So you can skive out of dealing with the discorporate? Fat chance. No -- I   
think there's some connection that I should remember -- why don't you go ask   
Irmo if "nightingale" means anything to him. There's an errand you can run.

**Apprentice**:   
Er, you could use the remote there -- why not just ask him?

**Namo**:   
Because you're annoying me. Because I'm waiting to hear from security about   
that rogue, among other things.

**Apprentice**: [disappointed]   
Oh.

[starts to leave, turns back again]

Sir, didn't Melian have nightingales? And aren't all these new patients from   
the place where she settled down? Dorl -- Dorith -- one of those Dor-- names?

[long pause. Namo frowns, then sets down his teacup with a bang]

**Namo**: [wearily]   
All right. I'll talk to her.

[he turns his chair about to face into the room]

**Apprentice**: [raising an eyebrow]   
--Actually, Sir, I think the word you want is --"listen."   


* * *

**SCENE II**

  


**Gower**:   
--That Melian's daughter made her way   
to Mandos' Halls, and there did win   
her way as well, with imploring song,   
and of her thought and melody did spin   
a thread to bind the sternest and most strong   
to clemency -- this all do remember well.   
But of the rest, that followed ere the Choice   
little is said, and less considered: how still   
much ado was made, high counsels held, voice   
upraised to counter and to question,   
troubling the highest, making them to pause   
and ponder long with sad consideration   
this strange matter of their love, and cause   
that Luthien upholds, appeals, maintains   
with such unreservéd zeal that even yet,   
beyond the Bent World's verge, her strains   
are sung in deathless memory, past the set   
of Sun, of Moon, by gods and Elven-kind   
until the ending of all things shall find   
even the stars and that unstained land--   


[The Hall. There is a difference -- where the tea-table occupied an alcove under   
a lamp, there is now a vast double throne under an arch, with only the lamp, the   
occupant, and the stone sphere resting on the dividing arm of the throne the same.   
In the background, Nienna is still paying attention to the Loom. Before the throne,   
Luthien is looking up at Namo with a desperate expression. ]

**Namo**:   
I -- I'm sorry, I was thinking about what you'd just said -- I . . . missed   
your last remark.

[he wipes at his eyes, shaking his head a little]

**Luthien**:   
Might I please speak to him now, my Lord?

[pause]

**Namo**:   
I . . . am not sure how to break this to you, but he -- he isn't here.

**Luthien**: [frightened]   
He has to be.

**Namo**:   
No, I'm afraid that isn't the case. Except for those who give themselves   
to the Enemy during their lifetimes, or have ties to their own place that are   
strong enough to override the call of their Fate, mortals do not remain in Arda.

**Luthien**:   
But he wouldn't have lingered back there -- he's not evil, he has no one   
left besides me, and he knows I'll come here too.

**Namo**:   
But Men don't stay here -- they go on from the Halls to their own destiny   
beyond Ea.

[pause]

I'm sorry.

**Luthien**: [becoming increasingly frantic]   
But I told him to wait for me! I -- I came as fast as I could -- how long   
has it been? You didn't -- you didn't send him on without me -- please tell   
me you didn't! Surely he would have explained --

[greater apprehension]

--but what if he couldn't --

[sudden notion]

--is Huan here?

**Namo**: [bewildered]   
Why would he be here? He isn't an Elf -- he belongs to Orome.

**Luthien**:   
No. He belongs to Beren now. And me. I'm sure he would be waiting for   
us here somewhere. He might be looking after him--

**Namo**: [frowning]   
That's the second time dogs have come up in recent conversation. Very peculiar.

**Nienna**: [from where she's sitting, not looking over]   
If you'd been paying attention to the news, or even what's going on under   
your own roof, you'd understand. You need to remember the big picture, not   
just focus on the organizational details, Namo.

**Namo**: [giving her an exasperated look]   
Be a little more cryptic, would you? Ah --

[realization hits]

Aaha. The kid with the dog.

**Luthien**:   
They're here? He's still here?

[he nods, picking up the sphere]

**Namo**:   
--Security, please. --Just how big is that dog, anyway? Uh-huh. I see.   
Can you put my wife on, please? --Vaire, things have just gotten a little   
more complicated. --If you can believe it. I know. Look, I need you to   
talk to that mortal again. He hasn't been rude to you, has he? No, apparently   
he has some kind of aphasia problem, but he's not deaf. Would you ask him if   
he's Beren Barahirion? -- and if he is, tell him that Luthien is here and   
would like to speak with him, and ask him if he would be so good as to come   
over here. His dog can come too. --Has the dog been rude to you? Well, I'm   
going to have a little talk with Orome about him. -- Yes, that's right.   
Love you too.

[sets down palantir, sighs and shakes his head with a pained expression]

I find it difficult to believe that all this madness really is connected.   
It's almost enough to make one think that order is an illusion.

**Nienna**:   
Why do you think I've been watching all along? It takes patience to see   
the patterns.

[her brother half-smiles]

**Namo**: [to Luthien]   
--Yes. He's here, beneath this roof, and will be here directly.

**Luthien**: [whispering]   
Thank you. --Thank you--

[Enter Nienna's Apprentice, and Huan, who sniffs the air and looks towards the   
Loom, keening softly. Beren is between them, holding onto Huan's collar for balance.   
He is more bowed and tattered than in Act II, wearing a motley layered assortment   
of frayed rags and well-made tailoring (all far too large), his head low, his right   
arm held stiffly by his side. He looks like a defeated veteran of a long campaign   
stumbling home from the wars.]

**Luthien**:   
Beren.

[he lifts his head and looks over blankly towards her -- and then he seems to   
recognize her and lets go of Huan to hurl himself at her in a controlled collapse   
as she runs to catch him, locking her arms around his back as he leans against   
her shoulder, eyes closed, oblivious to the rest of his surroundings. Luthien stands   
there holding him close, crying, unable to speak right away. After a few moments   
they straighten and look at each other, though she does not let go of him any more   
than he tries to step away:]

Are you all right?

[he nods. Worried:]

Can you talk?

**Beren**: [with visible effort]   
Yes.

[wry smile]

It's hard.

[suddenly]

--Where's Huan?

**Luthien**: [more worried]   
He's right here, on the other side of me.

[Huan comes closer; Beren does not react until the Hound whines]

Beren, can you see?

[pause]

**Beren**:   
I can see you. The rest -- is all grey and lights.

[she is very upset, far more than he is]

It's a little bit better now.

**Apprentice**: [who has been standing awkwardly to the side]   
There isn't much more to see than "grey and lights", I'm afraid.

[at Namo's stern Look]

No criticism of your Lady's decorating scheme was -- well, I'm afraid it   
was, rather, but, erm -- it could be a lot worse.

**Namo**:   
Why don't you go find something to do while they make their goodbyes, hm?

**Luthien**: [disbelieving]   
Goodbyes?!? What do you mean?!

**Namo**: [gently]   
So that he can be on his way.

**Luthien**: [horrified]   
What!?

**Namo**: [frowning]   
Isn't that what you wanted? Since you didn't get the chance to speak   
together before his dissolution?

**Luthien**: [shaking her head]   
No! I mean, yes but not just that, I want to stay with him -- him to   
stay with me, always.

[she is on the edge of tears, and holds onto Beren tighter than ever. Huan   
presses up against them both, looking anxious]

**Namo**:   
But that isn't possible.

**Luthien**:   
Why not?

**Namo**:   
Because the One has organized the universe otherwise. He isn't supposed to   
stay here. But you know this. So make your farewells, and let him go.

**Luthien**: [mournfully]   
I may have emphasized the part about how we didn't get a chance to even say   
goodbye properly a little too much. My Lord, please, can't you make an exception?

**Namo**:   
No. I didn't make the Law.

**Luthien**:   
But you're in charge here.

**Namo**:   
I administer the Law. But I do not have the power to change it.

**Luthien**: [fraying]   
I didn't come all this way just to have him taken away from me again. I will   
not let this happen.

**Namo**:   
Luthien, I'm afraid you don't understand.

**Luthien**:   
I understand very well, my Lord, and I don't care.

**Beren**: [uneven smile]   
Haven't we done this before?

**Namo**: [sighing]   
Please try to look at it rationally. I agree that it is a terrible tragedy,   
but you knew that your husband was mortal and under a separate Doom before   
you married him. The tragic shortness of your marriage does not change that   
essential fact.

**Luthien**: [desperate]   
Then can we at least have an entire lifetime here before he has to go?   
We're owed at least that!

**Namo**:   
Very few people, in this world, get what they deserve. It shouldn't have   
happened this way, you're right.

**Luthien**: [hopeful]   
And?

**Namo**:   
And it's unfortunate. Most unfortunate. That's why I'm giving you a chance   
to have a good memory, before he goes.

**Luthien**: [strongly]   
--No. Beren is staying with me.

**Apprentice**: [nervously]   
Your Highness, that's not--

**Luthien**: [sarcastic]   
What, will he blast me if I defy him?

**Namo**: [dry]   
No, that isn't my style. You need to reconcile yourself to facts, Luthien.

**Luthien**:   
If someone says that to me one more time, I'm going to scream until the roof   
falls in. I know what the facts are. I want solutions! And acceptable ones!   
This -- saying goodbye to Beren so that he can be kicked out yet again like   
a trespassing vagabond -- is not an acceptable solution. You've got to do better.

[the Lord of the Halls gives a short laugh and closes his eyes]

**Namo**:   
You understand I really do not have the time to spare, even though I'm making it.

**Luthien**: [snappish]   
Well, we jolly well didn't have it either. Don't try to make me feel sorry for   
you, it won't work.

[the Apprentice covers his face with his hand]

Why can't you even make an exeption to the rules?

**Namo**: [patiently]   
Because it is not a Rule, it is the Law. And it would not be fair to him.

**Luthien**:   
I don't understand--

**Namo**:   
I know.

**Luthien**:   
--How could it not be fair to him? He's the one who's been cheated most by   
all this!

**Namo**:   
You wish to keep him here, in this fragmentary state, because of your affection   
for him. But he is not made for this place, nor this state, because he is not   
like you.

[gesturing]

Look at him. Do you want to hold him in that, without any hope of being rehoused,   
without the natural properties that make such a mode endurable, alone and severed   
from his own kind, until you've decided that you've had him long enough? What   
does he think of all this? Have you even asked him, or simply laid commands on him?

[Luthien looks defiant, but increasingly anxious]

**Apprentice**: [thoughtfully]   
Sir, could perhaps something be done -- to some small area, to make it less   
overwhelming to his senses?

**Namo**:   
I don't know. Nor do I know yet what his feelings on the matter are.

[to Beren:]

--Beren son of Barahir.

[Beren starts and tries to focus on the Lord of the Halls]

What do you want?

**Beren**: [after several attempts]   
I want Tinuviel to be happy.

**Namo**:   
Being happy and getting what one asks for are not always the same thing.   
--What do you want for yourself?

[pause -- Luthien looks wretched and afraid]

**Beren**: [faintly]   
I want to stay with my wife.

[she hugs him in relief]

**Namo**: [grim]   
As you now are, young Man?

**Beren**: [simply]   
I've known worse. This doesn't hurt.

[silence]

**Namo**: [to where Nienna has been up till now]   
I'm surprised you haven't jumped in yet -- where's she gotten to?

[sighing -- to Beren:]

You're not making things any easier.

**Beren**: [a very faint smile]   
I usually don't.

**Namo**: [snorts, sounding exasperated, but not angry]   
I'm not sure what to do. This is unprecedented, and nothing I can recall   
from the Song gives me any hints, let alone specific directions. I'm going   
to consult with my peers about this -- fortunately they're already somewhat   
aware of your circumstances, so it shouldn't take too long to bring them up   
to date. Meanwhile you two might as well--

**Huan**: [interrupting]   
[loud single bark]

**Namo**:   
--three, might as well stay here as anywhere else. Then we won't waste any   
time trying to find you again.

[to the Apprentice]

You're sure you don't know where my sister might be?

**Apprentice**:   
Yes. Erm, no. That is, I'm sure I don't know where she is. I know many places   
where she might be.

[the Lord of the Halls looks up at the ceiling]

**Namo**:   
Do you do this on purpose, or does it come naturally? --Has she given you   
any tasks that you're supposed to be doing right now?

**Apprentice**:   
I don't know, my Lord. --I mean, I'm not sure why I do it. My Master only   
told me to make myself useful about the Halls.

**Namo**:   
Good. --About the latter, not the first part of your statement. Go find my   
Lady, explain things to her -- quickly -- and ask her to meet me at the   
Mahanaxar. First, however, ask her what you should be doing and then go and   
do it. If nothing else, then I'll have you handle coordinating security --   
that should help curb your taste for adventure, seeing how these stakeouts   
really go down.

**Apprentice**:   
Certainly, Sir.

[he gives a rather extravagant bow, and strides jauntily out, though not without   
a backwards concerned look at the three shades. The Lord of the Halls picks up his   
cup from the other arm of his throne (where it was not a moment before) finishes   
the last of his tea and rises from his throne. Setting down the cup he vanishes,   
without another word. Beren reacts, starting.]

**Beren**:   
What's gonna happen now?

**Luthien**:   
I don't know. I -- I --

[shaking her head]

I'm going on nothing but instinct right now. I don't know why they all need   
to discuss it. And I have no idea what they'll decide.

[Behind them Vaire appears for a moment, glances across at the trio with a   
sympathetic expression, and with a fond shake of her head dismisses the teacup   
sitting on her husband's chair. Another quick gesture dismisses the muddle of   
chairs and dims the light of the Loom to a faint glow. She disappears without   
them noticing her, with the possible exception of Huan. Beren sinks down onto   
his knees, closing his eyes. Luthien drops down in front of him]

**Luthien**: [anxious]   
What's wrong -- Beren, love, what's the matter?

**Beren**: [looking up at her, vaguely]   
I'm tired. --And I got chilled and couldn't get warm again.

**Luthien**:   
Have they hurt you somehow?

**Beren**: [slowly]   
No. Some people -- I'm not sure what kind of people they were. They weren't   
Elves, I'm pretty sure. They came, and . . . talked at me kind of loudly.   
They -- they weren't real happy with me being there in the entryway. But   
nobody did anything except talk. I -- wasn't listening to most of it anyway.

[he reaches out his hand, and Huan bumps his head under it]

He came along and started licking my face . . . and made me move and kind of   
curled up around me . . . and after that . . . I wasn't cold. He growled at   
them when they came by to yell at me, too, and after a while they stopped.

[he smiles, rubbing Huan's ears]

He's a good dog. Isn't that right, boy?

**Huan**:   
[whines]

[Luthien pulls Beren close against her side, and he leans his head on her shoulder.   
Huan moves to lie couchant behind them, right at their backs.]

**Luthien**: [whispering]   
Shh, it's all right, don't be afraid -- we're here now, I won't let anything   
else happen to you. Just rest, you're safe, we've got you, we've got you . . .

**Beren**: [not opening his eyes]   
Sounds good . . . to me . . .

[she is weeping silently, but not letting him know it as she alternately smoothes   
his hair and rubs gently at his wrist. Across the room as she is trying to blink   
away the tears, the glow of the Loom attracts her attention, and she strains to   
make out what it is. At that moment the quiet of the hall is shattered beyond repair:]

**Tulkas**: [shouting in the distance]   
Well of course it's unprecedented, everything's unprecedented, you know we're   
just making it up as we go along!

[Following this proclamation the speaker himself appears, striding in out of nowhere   
to where the three are, much to the astonishment of the lovers. Huan does not leave   
where he is lying pressed up against Beren and Luthien, but he gives a short happy   
bark and thumps his tail on the floor]

**Tulkas**: [shaking his head in disgust]   
They call me "simple" -- but not everything is this complicated. Some things   
are simple.

[looks around and snorts in disgust]

What is it with this obsessive need of Vaire's to tidy everything? How much   
work is it to leave a few chairs around?

[manifests a heavy, carved chair of the royal fald-stool with arms and back type,   
flings self down in it. (Note: there are no obvious sfx -- no flashes, no "magical"   
sounds -- it's just there.) Manifesting a drinking horn:]

You want anything? A drink? Say the word --

[Beren, a bit wild-eyed, shakes his head; Luthien is marginally more composed.]

**Luthien**:   
Oh -- no thank you, my lord. We are quite -- adequate -- as we are --

**Tulkas**: [to Beren]   
--Good work with those little spiders. Too many to clean out, of course, but   
you made a nice dent in the population.

**Beren**: [startled into blurting out a response]   
Little?

**Tulkas**:   
Should've seen their mother.

[shakes his head sadly]

I'll regret not catching her to the end of the world.

[he takes another pull of his drink]

**Beren**: [aside]   
So will the world.

**Tulkas**:   
That's what I said.

[Beren looks confused.]

Now, mind you, I don't go in for all those fancy gadgets, myself -- I'm   
more the hands-on type -- but heh, even I can see why you wouldn't want   
to come to close quarters with those things. How come you never used a,   
a whatsit, poky-stick-thing -- you know, a "spear?" Seems a lot better   
than going after those things with a -- sword -- farther away, right?   
Why didn't you make yourself one?

**Beren**:   
Um -- 'cause I'm not a smith?

[Tulkas looks a bit confused at this]

I didn't have the tools, or the time, and I wouldn't have known what to do   
with them if I did. And a spear can be damned inconvenient for hauling around   
in rough terrain -- anything taller than you is gonna catch on stuff. Plus   
there's the problem of if you throw it you haven't got it, but if you hang   
on to it, it can become a liability. Spears are best for open country and   
pitched battle. Otherwise--

[it clicks, suddenly, and he looks horrified]

Ah. Sir. --My lord. --Oh gods -- help me--

[Tulkas looks around]

**Tulkas**:   
No one else here, unless you're counting Huan. "Otherwise--?" You were saying--?

**Beren**: [quietly, rushed]   
Otherwise it can become just another thing to slow you down.

[bowing his head]

Sir.

**Tulkas**:   
Oh yeah. I'm with you there.

[getting louder]

I mean, it's all just a way of hitting harder in one place than another. I   
don't know why other people go on about weapons as if they're so much better   
than brute force, especially the more moving parts they have. They're not any   
easier. All this business about "it's so easy, you just pull it and the bow   
does the work for you," and nothing about how it wants to go in all different   
directions, including back into you and along your arm--!

**Beren**: [startled into forgetting]   
Somebody said archery was easy? I would never agree with that.

**Tulkas**:   
But you were really good at it.

**Beren**:   
Yeah, but I started practicing when I was what, four? five? and I kept   
practicing, and I twanged myself good more'n a few times there -- first   
time I tried fooling around with a full-size bow I gave myself a bloody   
nose, and my first recurved hunting job -- ouch. --Of course I shouldn't   
have been too impatient to put on a vambrace before testing it. But yeah,   
anything that can punch through an elk, or a warg, or an armored Orc,   
before it can get close enough to damage you, is going to have a hell of   
a lot of power and need extreme control to make that power go where you   
need it to, and only there.

[he stops, and starts to panic again -- Tulkas does not seem to notice, but   
Luthien hugs him]

**Tulkas**: [smiling triumphantly]   
I'm going to have you tell my brother-in-law this. Someone needs to take   
him down a notch. Besides, you understand when brute force is the right   
thing -- that bit with Feanor's brat, when he grabbed her? On the horse?   
-- No hesitation, no stopping-to-think-it-over -- exactly what I would   
have done. Perfect.

[gestures with his horn towards Beren and drinks a toast]

Of course, I helped a bit. You've always tended to be a little too thoughtful   
and cautious -- except towards the end there -- and sometimes you just need   
to act without distractions. Not the time and place for it

**Beren**:   
Y--you're Tulkas, right--?

**Tulkas**: [shrugs]   
Last time I checked. I think that's what they're still calling me.

**Beren**:   
Ah . . . okay. So -- when I pulled Curufin down, that was really you? Your   
power working through me? I should thank you for saving Luthien then?

**Tulkas**: [shaking his head]   
Oh no, I just helped with the distractions. It was all you. Besides, you   
already did. I'm one of the Valar, right? Don't you remember thanking us?

**Beren**:   
. . .

**Luthien**:   
How do you know all this -- milord?

**Tulkas**:   
Oh, I was following the story off and on from a long ways back -- even before   
what's-his-name, the guy who didn't come back -- Thingol -- got my attention   
begging me to smite him couple-three times a day. Nia said this was one I'd li--

**Luthien**: [interrupting, outraged]   
You didn't!

**Tulkas**:   
--Of course not. That's not how it works, anyway, and your dad knows it.

[snorts]

Besides, I didn't need to.

[glares at Beren]

What were you thinking, you dimwit? You had every chance handed to you to go   
off and have a decent life with your girl and what do you do, you go and   
yourself killed, for a bargain which nobody in his right mind would have   
considered taking up -- can we say "rigged contest," hm? -- and you can't   
claim it was an accident, how often did you try to get yourself killed   
before you succeeded? Every time she said "Let's just go and live in the   
woods," would it have, huh, killed you to say "yes"? Obviously not. Believe   
me, I wanted to clobber you a couple times there.

[the disgruntled Power recovers from his rant with another drink]

**Beren**: [quiet]   
I'm sorry, if that helps any.

**Tulkas**: [looks around expectantly, then shakes his head]   
--Nope, nothing's changed. So I don't think it did.

[Beren looks even more baffled.]

Well. What are you going to do now?

**Beren**:   
Do?

**Tulkas**:   
Right, what are you going to do about this situation you got yourselves into?

**Beren**:   
. . .

**Luthien**:   
I got us into it too. But at this point it isn't up to us. What can we do?

[pause]

That is to say, we're dead.

**Tulkas**:   
I know that. How much of a simpleton do you take me for? There's always something   
you can do. It might not work, but at least--

[There is a sudden gust of wind through the place and a tall, athletic woman (who   
might well be played by Maureen O'Sullivan, the original "Jane") in swirling but   
rather abbreviated drapery appears behind Tulkas, and puts her hands over his   
eyes, exclaiming:]

Guess who!

**Tulkas**:   
Hmm . . . I think . . . but no, can't be sure--

**Nessa**:   
Silly!

[She leans over and gives him a quick upside-down kiss]

Sure now?

**Tulkas**: [frowns, shakes his head]   
Not quite.

[they share a rather-more-protracted moment]

I think -- but . . .

[he ducks before she can thwack him on the head, grinning]

**Nessa**: [moving around beside him]   
Where did all the chairs go?

**Tulkas**:   
You know Vaire -- leave something alone for a moment, it gets cleaned up and   
put away. Here, sit on my lap, we only need one chair anyway.

[Nessa plunks herself down on his knees, grabs the mead-horn and takes a big   
gulp before passing it back and leaning against his shoulder.]

So what's going on? Anything interesting?

**Nessa**: [scornful expression]   
Pfft. Talk, talk, talk, "Rules" -- talk, talk, talk, "mortal" -- talk, talk,--

**Tulkas**: [interrupting]   
Who's saying what?

**Nessa**:   
--You know how it goes. Somebody says one thing, someone else says another,   
and after it wrangles around for a while the first person's saying what the   
third said and the third and second are disagreeing with themselves and   
everyone else is just shaking their heads.

**Tulkas**:   
You left out shouting.

**Nessa**:   
You didn't let me get there --

[pokes him in the ribs]

--talk, talk, talk, "War," -- talk, talk, talk, "Melian" -- shouting: "That   
scoundrel who seduced my finest employee and convinced her to throw away her   
career and become a housewife--"

**Tulkas**:   
--That's got to be Irmo--

**Nessa**: [nods]   
--More shouting. Back again to "mortal -- Rules -- War." It's soooo boring.   
--This chair is not big enough for the two of us.

**Tulkas**:   
That's because you insist on trying to sit sideways.

**Nessa**:   
Well, how else can you feed me grapes? If I face forward, you stick them   
in my eye.

**Tulkas**:   
We don't have any grapes, silly.

**Nessa**:   
Well, get some!

[Beren gives Luthien a cautious Look; she only raises her eyebrows in answer. This   
is not what she expected either.]

Never mind, I'll fetch them.

[Nessa holds out her hand and manifests a large cluster, pulls off one and pops it   
in her husband's mouth before giving him the rest of the bunch. Tulkas looks at   
both occupied hands, shakes his head and sets the drinking horn down on the floor,   
on feet which might not have been there a moment before. He starts feeding her   
grapes while she crosses her feet on one arm of the chair and leans back on the   
other. Tulkas starts teasing her, holding them just a little too high, and Nessa   
tickles him in return. This was not such a good idea, as in the resulting upheaval   
the chair really proves to be too small and she falls halfway onto the floor out   
of his lap. Huan has to get up and come over and "help" at this point with excited   
noises and nose-pokings]

**Nessa**:   
Huan, get away! This is stupid--

[she glares at the arm of the chair and gives it a whack with her hand]

I'm going to fix this, just wait a moment--

[There are no obvious sfx at this point, either audio or visual enhancement,   
just as with the previous manifestations]

**Beren**: [whispering to Luthien]   
Were they talking about your parents--?

**Luthien**: [almost incapable of speech]   
I -- I'm -- I think so--

**Beren**:   
Did you get that -- that -- bit, about -- being angry at --

[breaks off, astounded -- loudly:]

--That's a hill. A real hill, from outside -- at least it looks real--

**Nessa**: [beaming]   
Thank you!

[instead of a heavy fald-stool with arms, the divine couple are now sitting on a   
grassy hillock with some shrubs growing on it, allowing for much easier reclining.   
It is a fairly decent-sized prominence, not inconspicuous at all. ]

Would you like one too? We have plenty around our hall -- I can get another,   
no problem.

**Beren**: [rushed]   
Uh -- thank you very much, my lady, but I really don't want to put anyone to   
any trouble on my behalf.

**Nessa**: [between grapes]   
Well, I don't think you're obnoxious at all. That was very polite.

**Luthien**: [temper starting to flare]   
Who's saying Beren's obnoxious?

**Nessa**: [shrugs]   
Different people. My brother, like he's got room to talk. People with no   
senses of humor. Or romance.

[to Tulkas]

My turn.

[she sits up and takes the fruit and they switch places. To Luthien:]

I was so pleased with the way you used my Art to put old Melkor in his place--

**Tulkas**: [chuckles]   
Heh. That's one way of putting it.

**Nessa**:   
What?!?

**Tulkas**:   
You were shaking me and screaming and whacking Tav on the arm and yelling "See?   
See? Don't you ever call Dance a frivolous waste of time again!" until everyone   
told you to sit down and be quiet.

**Nessa**:   
I didn't hear that.

**Tulkas**:   
That's 'cause you were shouting.

**Nessa**:   
Pfft.

[she silences him with another grape]

You want to talk about obnoxious? He -- Melkor -- used to swagger about like   
he was Eru's gift to Valier -- and no idea how to win friends, much less hearts.   
No understanding of what conversation meant. He honestly thought that we wanted   
to hear him talk about himself.

**Luthien**: [defensive]   
Well, if someone's interesting, that's all right.

**Nessa**:   
You met him. Did he have anything the least bit interesting to say? The "art of   
conversation" involves an exchange of ideas, right? He couldn't ever grasp that   
there's this basic difference between a conversation and a monologue. Do you know   
how annoying it is to have someone just ignore everything you say to them?

**Luthien**:   
Well, up until recently I'd have had to say -- no, but--

**Beren**: [muttering]   
I'm sorry--

**Luthien**:   
I wasn't talking about you, I was referring to Celegorm. And my father. You   
listened, you just disagreed with me.

**Beren**: [gloomy]   
I was right, though--

**Luthien**: [sharply]   
No, you were not. If you had listened to me from the very beginning, milord,   
you would not have lost your hand, and you wouldn't be incapacitated in a fight,   
and you wouldn't have gotten yourself killed. Am I not right? Beren? Am I not   
right about that? Even the gods think so, weren't you listening--

**Beren**: [louder]   
But it wouldn't have worked then either--

**Nessa**: [loudly as if shooing a cat, dropping the grapes and clapping her hands]   
Wssht!

[they jump -- the Patrons of Spouses look at them very seriously and severely]

What are you fighting about?

**Tulkas**:   
Sounds like you're fighting over something that's already over.

**Luthien**:   
Er . . .

**Nessa**:   
Why?

**Beren**:   
Uh -- I guess because -- I've been doing it so long --

**Luthien**: [firmly]   
We've been doing it--

**Beren**:   
--we -- just don't know how to stop.

**Nessa**:   
That's not a good enough reason. Is it?

[they shake their heads meekly. Huan thumps his tail and gives a sympathy whine]

--Where were we?

**Tulkas**: [helpfully]   
Talking about my ex-rival. Whose head I am someday going to pound flush level   
with his neck.

**Nessa**:   
That's right.

[gives him another grape -- to Luthien:]

I'm betting all he said was, "Nobody appreciates me, I don't get the respect   
I deserve, everyone else is having such a great time, poor me, --you watch,   
they'll all be sorry someday" -- am I not right?

**Luthien**: [deadpan]   
That was pretty much all, except that you left out the bit about, "Get down   
here or I'll shoot you down with a lightning bolt."

**Tulkas**: [flat]   
Oh, how nice. He's got a new hobby. Indoor target practice. Joy.

**Nessa**:   
No, he used to do that.

**Tulkas**:   
Not indoors.

**Nessa**:   
Well, how would we know what he was doing all that time in Utumno? --This is   
a silly argument. Let's stop.

**Tulkas**: [amiably]   
All right.

**Nessa**: [gesturing towards Beren with her arm]   
Did you ever get a proper Acclamation? Did your family ever acknowledge him   
as your consort?

**Luthien**: [a bit dry]   
Haven't you been watching us all along?

**Nessa**:   
No, I had work to do right around then. Summer, you know.

**Luthien**:   
Well.

[she sighs]

They did give us a feast and all, but I'm not sure that I would call it a   
proper celebration. It wasn't very celebratory, you see, what with Carcaroth   
on the loose and so many people having been killed by his rampages and   
everyone all packed into the Caves for safety and the whole place completely   
disorganized as a result. No one was very cheerful, to put it mildly. Poor   
Mablung looked like a ghost -- he shouldn't even have been up yet, but trying   
to make him or Beleg stop for their own good is like telling Beren to take   
care of himself --

[Beren looks away, embarrassed]

--and my mother didn't look much better, and Dad was trying so hard to be   
polite and not say anything distressing, but there really aren't a whole lot   
of conversation topics left that don't end up somewhere unpleasant, and how   
much can you say about the weather? And Beren was so nervous -- and so was I   
-- and we weren't used to sitting at table -- out in the woods by the campfire   
I'd cut things and hold them for him, but our timing was all off and we kept   
knocking everything over. And then everyone pretended they didn't notice, and   
that was even worse. Beren was almost in tears, and I was trying not to get   
angry, and it wasn't working very well . . .

**Nessa**:   
Oh, you poor kids!

**Luthien**:   
. . . and we were both so exhausted and frayed that trying to be social was,   
frankly, a waste of time, and then there was all this fuss with Mom over   
whether we should have my old rooms, or the best guest suite instead, and   
since every available chamber was full of refugees who would have to be   
shuffled around, I thought it was irrelevant, especially given our living   
conditions for the past year, and they didn't understand that it was a joke   
when I said "Just give me a sword and I'll make a lean-to of branches like   
I usually do," and so I got lectured about The Dangers of Carcaroth! as   
though I were an idiot, and then I said, "Well, is my house still up in   
Hirilorn?" and that killed conversation completely for a bit.

[shaking her head]

And then Mom wanted to give me their room, and neither one of us wanted that,   
and Beren tried to help by suggesting that we could sleep on the floor in one   
of the storage caves, and they thought that was Not Funny either, and then   
they realized that it wasn't supposed to be a joke, and things got touchy   
again for a little while, and then we had another round of mutual apologizing.

**Nessa**:   
So what did you end up doing?

**Luthien**: [completely unable to stop now that she's started talking about it]   
Hirilorn, actually. No one else was staying there, no way up it for Carcaroth   
-- and the army stationed all around the gates of Menegroth below -- and   
ultimately everyone agreed it was the best solution. Not perfect, mind you --   
I had to guard Beren up the ladder like you do with small children to the house   
door, and then he got upset all over again about how high up it was -- he'd only   
seen the tree once at sunset and it was a lot more impressive actually being in   
it -- because of me climbing down from it, and then we fought about me sleeping   
on the floor with him because my bed was too small for us both and he was being   
all self-sacrificing again and I had to cry before he'd stop it, and then we   
fought about him going on the Hunt the next day, because he insisted that it   
` really was his fault about Carcaroth and besides Mablung was going in spite   
of his injuries, and we were both feeling so Doomed that I couldn't tell if   
it was a real perception or not, and I tried to make a joke about this being   
familiar, up in the moonlight with sentries down on the lawn and he got upset   
again about the fact that I had to rappel down, and about the fact that they   
were in the Pit then . . .

[she stops, taking a ragged breath; Beren is profoundly mortified -- Tulkas   
gives him a sympathetic look]

**Tulkas**: [pointing at the drinking horn on the floor]   
Sure you don't want some mead? You look like you could use a drink.

**Beren**:   
No thanks -- but it sounds like a better idea all the time.

**Luthien**: [forlornly]   
. . . and I almost wished that they'd just drunk us a toast, broken a loaf,   
handed us some blankets and said "there's an empty corner behind those shelves   
over there," just bread -- wine -- bed, instead of even trying to make a fuss   
. . . It wasn't just the awfulness at dinner, the rest of the celebration wasn't   
any good either -- there wasn't any of the traditional singing, because it   
wouldn't have been appropriate with all the mourning, and everyone was so   
awkward about congratulating us . . . and about actually looking me in the eye,   
and not staring at Beren. As a wedding -- it was pretty awful, really. And then   
he got killed--

[she stops abruptly]

**Nessa**: [outraged]   
That's not right! You deserved better than that!

**Luthien**: [shrugs]   
Well, -- yes. But under the circumstances--

**Nessa**: [interrupting]

That doesn't matter. That's just no good at all. --You know Morgoth ruined   
our honeymoon, too.

**Luthien**: [blinking suspiciously hard -- politely:]   
--Really?

**Nessa**:   
The party was wonderful. Which just made everything after so much more awful   
as well. It's worse when good memories get spoiled by some disaster.

**Luthien**:   
What happened? I remember Mom saying something about that was why you all moved   
out of Middle-earth -- something about volcanic eruptions or something -- she   
wasn't very clear, and I was a little kid being fished out from under the loom.

**Nessa**:   
He used our wedding as cover to sneak his army of fiends in from Without and   
start entrenching up north and by the time we realized he was causing the   
pollution and the mutations, that it wasn't something we'd done wrong, he   
had already tunneled under the Lamps.

**Tulkas**: [bitterly]   
I shouldn't have gone off-duty.

**Nessa**:   
No darling, it was my fault for distracting you. You couldn't have known about   
the double-agents -- not even Manwe did, then, so why shouldn't you have had   
the night off?

**Tulkas**:   
Honey, don't you dare blame yourself. Just as much my fault for daring you to   
try to wear me out--

**Nessa**: [mischievously]   
No one can keep up with me. I bet I could do it again tonight . . .

**Tulkas**: [interested]   
What stakes?

**Nessa**:   
A beach holiday on Tol Eressea. Moonlight on the ocean, dolphins playing, and   
the water right there when we get sandy. --What are you betting?

**Tulkas**:   
A mountain-climbing vacation.

[leadingly]

--Sunrise over the Pelori, bonfires under the stars at the edge of the world,   
and that bracing mountain air means we'll have to keep warm somehow. The deer   
will like it too, we won't have to ask anyone to watch them while we're away.

**Nessa**:   
Ooh, you're cheating!

[she pokes him in the ribs. He sits up and tries to catch her hand, giving her   
kisses, while she keeps on trying to tickle him.]

**Beren**: [to himself]   
They looked a lot more staid on Gran's tapestries . . .

[Luthien gives a speculative look at the Powers and then at him]

**Luthien**:   
If you hadn't gone and gotten yourself killed, we could have had that in   
Middle-earth, too. They've been married for thousands of years and somehow   
they manage not to fight most of the time.]

[Beren winces. Unnoticed except by Huan, who pricks up his ears, Aule's Assistant   
appears in the middle of the hall. He does a double-take at the sight of the hill   
and its occupants, before giving a disgusted snort at the sight of the amorous deities.]

**Aule's Assistant:** [clearing his throat]   
If you can manage to divert your attention from this unseemly spectacle, and   
grant this humble messenger a modicum of the same?

[they all turn and stare at him]

**Tulkas**: [looking around the room]   
Unseemliness? We can't have that. --Where?

[the Assistant shakes his head. Nessa throws a grape at him; he ignores it with   
studied decorousness]

**Assistant**: [to Luthien]   
The Powers have requested -- in the absence or preoccupation of the regular   
staff -- that I provide you with escort to the chamber in these Halls where   
they will hold their deliberations so that you may address them, and account   
for your actions.

[silence. Beren and Luthien, looking nervous, start to get up]

**Luthien**: [to Beren]   
If you find yourself getting panicked again, leave the talking to me this time.

**Assistant**: [quickly]   
The presence of your -- consort -- is not required.

**Luthien**:   
What do you mean?

**Assistant**:   
I mean, plainly put, that the mortal is not to attend this meeting.

**Luthien**:   
Well, then, -- I'm not going either. Why can't he?

**Assistant**:   
To your first word, this is not "attendance optional," to your second -- in   
plainest speech -- because he does not belong here in the first place, nor   
with you, who are of a different kind, nor is your reasoning made clearer   
by his company.

**Luthien**: [tearful frustration]   
Why is everyone out to get us? We're not hurting anyone, we didn't ask for   
very much -- we just want to be together. --What is the problem? Why does   
everyone in the world have to make such a fuss about us? What do the gods   
care about me, about Beren, when they have all of Arda to worry about? What   
difference do we make?

[pause]

**Tulkas**:   
Well, you did come and insist rather loudly that Namo pay attention to you.   
--Not trying to be mean, just pointing out a fact.

**Luthien**:   
But why can't you just fix things?

**Tulkas**:   
How?

**Luthien**: [acerbic]   
You're the gods, you're supposed to be all powerful.

**Nessa**: [patiently]   
Now, little sister, I'm sure Melian taught you better than that.

**Luthien**: [still stubborn]   
You still haven't explained why such a fuss is being made.

**Tulkas**:   
You've thrown everyone off by doing something completely unprecedented.   
People don't just show up here without being called for, you know.

**Nessa**: [thoughtful]   
Well, there was that other time which is sort of the same thing--

**Tulkas**: [scowling]   
Yes, but that's not a good precedent. And it isn't really the same at all.   
They're not like them -- and a jolly good thing, too!

**Nessa**:   
True.

[to Luthien]

You should really do something with your hair, you look like a poor sheep   
they've forgotten to shear.

[Luthien, looking intensely piqued, starts to say something -- and Beren laughs]

It looks so nice when you braid flowers in it.

**Luthien**: [to Beren, who has turned it into a cough]   
What, sir?!

**Beren**: [complete innocence]   
Oh absolutely, I agree -- about the flowers.

[she gives him a narrow Look; he takes a lock of her hair in his fingers]

You just don't get a break, do you? --It's okay, it's okay, this is just   
a little thing--

[he tugs her closer until their foreheads touch; whispering:]

You still don't look as much of a sheepdog as me--

[they kiss]

**Tulkas**: [approving]   
Much better.

[embarrassed, they straighten back up]

**Assistant**: [clearing his throat]   
--Could we please stop wasting time, young Lady?

**Luthien**: [same tone back]   
That is Princess, to you, sir. And we are not wasting anyone's time, but   
quite the reverse.

**Nessa**: [to her husband]   
Oh, I've got a plan. A good plan! Listen--

[She grabs his head and whispers into his ear.]

Let's go find her, all right?

**Tulkas**: [frowning]   
You really think that will help?

**Nessa**:   
I'm sure. --Oh, I want to stop by the house first and pick up the deer.

**Tulkas**:   
Are they part of the plan?

**Nessa**:   
No, silly, it's just more fun when they're around. Race you back to the hall!

[Vanishes. Tulkas vanishes a split-second later. The Hill is left behind]

**Assistant**: [shaking his head]   
--Well, don't expect to see them any time soon.

[to Luthien, not really a question]

Your Highness, are you coming or not?

**Luthien**: [folding her arms]   
I told you, I'm not going anywhere without Beren.

[deliberately]

You tell them -- If he is not welcome, I'm not welcome

**Beren**: [unhappy]   
--Tinuviel -- maybe--

**Luthien**:   
No. If they're going to make this big deal about me being Mom's daughter   
and "isn't it wonderful" to meet me and isn't it so awful what happened,   
they can treat you with the respect due you as my consort. Otherwise it's   
just the same as Doriath.

[The Assistant gives her a disgruntled glare; she gives it right back to him]

**Assistant**:   
I will speak to my Patrons about this, Elf.

**Luthien**:   
Good. You do that.

[after a brief staring contest Aule's messenger vanishes, not before saying,   
in a last-word-power-play manner:]

**Assistant**:   
Don't touch anything while you're waiting. --Especially the Loom.

[silence -- particularly deafening after the last visitors; the couple look at   
each other, recovering from the overwhelming personalities and onslaught of   
information they've just experienced.]

**Luthien**:   
Well.

**Beren**:   
--Yeah.

[pause]

Not -- not quite what you expected either, huh?

**Luthien**:   
I think -- my parents -- left a lot out.

[pulling herself together]

Now I'm wondering what else they neglected to mention or somehow failed to   
convey quite vividly enough. --So what were you expecting?

**Beren**:   
I don't know. Not this.

[shaking his head]

I mean -- I don't know, I just -- my folks raised me to be godsfearing and   
pious, I learned my myths, and how you don't reap all the field, you leave   
some for the deer in winter because Yavanna is patron of wild animals, not   
just farmers, and you don't ever shoot swans because they're sacred to Ulmo,   
and if you wear down a knife or a needle where it can't be sharpened any   
more you don't throw it away in the trash, you bury it out of respect for   
Aule, and you thank Manwe when the weather holds good for harvest --

[short dismayed laugh]

--that was all just -- everyday stuff -- just life, but not -- there, like   
the War. The stories -- they were like tapestries, bright colors, and detailed,   
and interesting, but background, not -- real -- the way stories about our   
history were real, people if you didn't know, at least you knew people who   
had known someone who had known them.

[sighs]

And then everything fell apart, and -- what was normal and what wasn't -- by   
the end nothing human was real to me, and I swear I could understand what   
the streams were saying, but since it wasn't in words I couldn't ever say   
what it was -- and then -- you --

[she smiles sadly at him]

and afterwards . . .

[he shakes his head]

. . . he'd say things, or they would, and I literally couldn't make anything   
of it . . . I hear words like "and so I asked Varda," and -- my mind just   
stops, like a pony balking -- I can't make any pictures to go along with the   
words. I just had no idea really what to expect . . . being mortal, especially . . .

[with a touch of resentment]

--but I did think it was going to be peaceful at least.

**Luthien**: [slowly]   
It's different for me, obviously -- more like your old family stories about   
Hithlum, friends of my parents and places that I've never met or seen but   
had always felt familiar towards, because of the way they talked about them.   
But it's still quite different from the way I'd imagined it, from their   
stories . . .

[glancing up at the glowing vaults with a thoughtful frown]

So that is the Loom. That answers one question, at least. I wonder . . .

[she gets up and tugs him over towards it, despite his reluctance]

**Beren**: [worried]   
Tinuviel, he just said--

**Luthien**:   
All he said was don't touch it. I'm just looking, Beren.

[it's clear that's not going to be the case for very long]

Oh, interesting. I can see now why they call it a "loom." I think -- look   
at that, there actually are several, um, heddles, I suppose you have to call   
them -- see?

**Beren**:   
No.

**Luthien**:   
More than several, really. They just keep on going, all the way back in, I   
don't see how they all fit. And that's got to be the take-up -- again, I don't   
understand how all of them can be in there--

[she leans in and starts trying to measure spaces]

**Beren**:   
Er--

**Luthien**:   
--because there's got to be one for each "heddle", but it looks to me like   
you could unwind the, ah, cloth, and thread it over these bits, if you--

[without her actually touching anything, some part of the construct moves and   
there is a dramatic, if brief, change in the intensity, texture, and color   
of the lights]

Oh! --Did you see that? You did see that, right? I don't know exactly what   
it was, but there was definitely something there-- Now if I do this -- or   
this instead--

**Beren**: [trying to pull her away]   
I don't think we're supposed to be doing this . . .

**Luthien**:   
And that has stopped you when?

**Beren**:   
. . .

[she keeps poking around, while he alternates between expressions of dread and   
resignation. Thus neither of them see when Huan re-enters, carefully leading Finrod   
Felagund by the sleeve, who is a little bemused but otherwise calm and unflustered.]

**Finrod**:   
Huan, I don't think we're supposed to be back here. I know it's a madhouse   
right now and no one seems to be around to give any answers, and I haven't   
been able to find anyone to send down to Orome about you, but don't you think   
we should look for someone to come explain what's going on . . . and . . .

[stops]

I -- think we've found them. Somehow -- I'm not surprised. Aside from being   
shocked beyond words. Beren? -- and Luthien? -- how --

[He hastens over to the two of them, who have turned around with a start and are   
standing frozen in front of the Loom]

How . . .?

[Beren, speechless, falls on his knees before him, Luthien kneeling with him.   
Finrod at once kneels too, taking their free hands in his own -- or attempting to.]

**Finrod**: [in extreme distress]   
Beren, what's happened?

**Beren**: [roughly, not looking up]   
I've failed you again, sir.

**Huan**:   
[barks sharply]

**Finrod**:   
Last I knew you were safe and living happily together. What happened to   
you -- three?

**Beren**:   
Carcaroth.

**Finrod**:   
What's Carcaroth?

**Huan**:   
[growls]

**Luthien**:   
Morgoth's anti-Huan defense system. But I knocked him out and we got in anyway,   
but then Morgoth saw through my ruse and recognized me.

**Finrod**: [aghast]   
Ah -- you were killed by Morgoth?

**Luthien**:   
No! We got it. But then Carcaroth got it. And Beren's hand. And then the Eagles   
came and got us. And Huan and I took care of Beren. And then we went home, but   
Carcaroth had already gotten there and into Doriath because of the Silmaril   
but I'm not sure if it might not have been because of Beren's hand, either,   
and they went to hunt him and he almost got my father but Beren got in the   
way -- and here we are.

**Finrod**: [stunned]   
You -- got -- a Silmaril. --Yourselves.

**Beren**: [hoarse]   
And then I lost it.

**Finrod**:   
You two -- went into Angband and took one of the jewels away. By yourselves.

**Luthien**:   
With Huan's help.

**Finrod**: [horrified, touching Beren's wrist ]   
Is that what happened to you?

**Beren**:   
No. That was Carcaroth.

**Finrod**:   
But you knocked -- Carcaroth -- out.

**Beren**:   
But then he woke up.

**Luthien**:   
--I explained that, remember?

**Finrod**: [mildly]   
I'm still trying to accept the fact that you're really here and not some sort   
of hallucination born of wishful thinking.

**Luthien**: [remorseful]   
I'm sorry--

**Finrod**: [brushing her bangs aside]   
What happened to your hair? You look like a wild pony.

**Luthien**: [laughing and crying together]   
Oh, no . . . not you too . . . !

**Finrod**:   
I -- no, I believe it, I simply cannot comprehend this.

[he shakes his head, laughing a little]

Let me endeavor to do so. --We'd heard of your exploit from several sources,   
but mostly from the newly-arrived -- there are several persons here who came   
not long after returning to Nargothrond, finding freedom sadly lacking as   
compared to expectations and recollection -- and I've had no end of trouble   
convincing the majority here that my older cousin from the Old Country isn't   
really twelve feet tall with a perpetual battle-aura brighter than the High-   
King's, let me assure you.

[Luthien gives a short incredulous laugh]

And they all said that you looked like the happiest couple in Middle-earth,   
and they were so pleased, and we were too, and it seemed as though things   
were going uphill, what with Sauron routed and no enemy base in that   
geographical corridor any more, and that was the last we knew, until the   
staff were all called away suddenly and with a great deal of worry expressed,   
talking about a sudden influx of casualties from Beleriand all intensely   
traumatized and no one's given us any meaningful answers since then.

**Beren**: [hollowly to himself]   
--Carcaroth . . .

**Luthien**: [getting warmer as she goes]   
Beren wouldn't go along with it -- too much happiness and he had to wallow   
in guilt some more and then try to immolate himself, and we tried to stop him,   
Huan and I, we really did -- but even though we could escape Nargothrond's   
security and defeat a Dark Lord, we were no match for Beren when it comes to   
out-and-out granite-hard stubbornness, not about going to Angband, not about   
refusing to take the peace we could get, not about going off to fight Carcaroth   
-- again!   


[Beren cringes and ducks his head; Finrod grips his arm comfortingly]

I'm sorry. It's been a horrible year.

**Finrod**: [hesitantly]   
Did you like Nargothrond? --I mean -- that is, of course, aside from being   
a prisoner . . . ?

**Luthien**: [incredulous]   
Finrod--! Really, do you think--

[she checks, and then looks sadly at him]

--It was beautiful. It was just as lovely as you said it would be. I wish--

[she breaks off, shaking her head, and reaches out to stroke the side of his face.   
He gives her a rueful smile]

I wish I'd gotten there in time.

**Finrod**: [gently]   
So you could have watched me fade after? --You did.

[he looks at Beren]

You keep saying "Carcaroth" and I don't quite know what you're talking about.   
Is that a weapon? Or or a person? Or both, like Glaurung?

[Beren answers before Luthien can start to speak]

**Beren**: [meeting Finrod's eyes for the first time]   
Mine.

[pause -- Finrod stares at him, starting to make sense of it]

--And Huan's.

[Finrod understands -- his expression changes to utter dismay and he cannot say   
anything. He reaches over and pulls them both against his shoulders, rocking them   
for a moment like children, resting his forehead against theirs. When they   
straighten he commands:]

**Finrod**:   
Tell me everything.

**Luthien**: [tired and frustrated]   
Finrod, it's such a long story, and I've been telling it over and over and   
over again and--

**Finrod**: [quietly]   
I promise I'll listen.

[she stops and almost smiles -- he gives her a kiss on the forehead and stands,   
helping them both get up.]

Let's find someplace more comfortable than the floor, though, if you don't mind.

[glances around -- musing:]

I wonder if benches would qualify as a technical violation . . .

[the others look at each other, wondering what on earth he's talking about. A   
woman's voice echoes through the door from down the hallway:]

--I shall not speak with him, dost thou not hear me plain? I'll have none of this--

**Finrod**:   
Grinding Ice--!

[Casts around frantically, ducks behind Huan. A tall and radiantly blonde woman   
sweeps in accompanied by Nienna's Apprentice. She could be played excellently by   
Uma Thurman, on loan from Gattaca. The faint (given the lighting) but definite   
living color of her and the slight shadow she casts make for a somewhat disquieting   
effect, as they do for her escort. Her gown is sleeveless, off the shoulder and   
flowing white, with a wide begemmed sash -- Art-Nouveau Egyptian-classical, like   
a Mucha-esque Cleopatra.]

**Apprentice**:   
My Master asks but that you hear him out -- whether you say anything or not,   
milady.

**Amarie**:   
I mean absolutely no disrespect to thy Master whatsoever, but thou mayest   
tell the Lady that if she doth hope to force some manner of reconciliation   
on us in such wise, it is foredoomed to be in vain. I will not to talk to him,   
do you hear?

**Apprentice**:   
Alas, yes.

[they see Beren, Luthien, and Huan -- and no one else -- present in the chamber,   
and cross to them in the absence of any other possible advisors]

**Apprentice**:   
Erm . . . excuse me, Your Highness, but you haven't happened to see my teacher   
-- that would be the Lady Nienna -- about anywhere lately?

**Luthien**: [rather sharp]   
I am afraid I haven't, sir. I have seen precious little of pity as yet from   
the Powers here -- though much in the way of sentimentality.

**Beren**: [trying to be fair]   
Uh--

**Amarie**: [interested now as well as annoyed]   
--"Highness"? Shall be a foreigner from the other Shore, belike? For I know   
all the royals in this land, and she is none of them.

**Apprentice**: [graciously indicating with his arm]   
This is the daughter of the Lady Melian and her consort, King Elu, once called   
Elwe, brother of the lord of Alqualonde (who is well known to yourself,) -- the   
Princess Luthien of Doriath in Beleriand.

[silence]

**Amarie**: [staring intensely at Luthien]   
So.

[pause]

This, then, shall be the infamous maid herself?

**Luthien**:   
--Infamous? I wouldn't know. Who are you?

**Apprentice**: [quickly]   
I'm just the messenger. As in 'Don't shoot'.

**Amarie**: [looks her up and down and sniffs]   
Thou dost not appear much that hath such havoc late inspired.

[turning her gaze on Beren]

And this is thy human consort. --I should have expected better there as well.

[the detached contempt slips into cold rage]

An I thought it should touch him, that mortal killer, I'd strike him across his   
villainous countenance, as I'd thee as well --

[back to the cool detachment]

--but such doth merit not even my disregard.

**Luthien**:   
Don't you dare threaten him!

**Amarie**: [sneering]   
What matter? He hath not substance nor reality in any case.

[Beren raises his brows but says nothing. Behind Huan Finrod grimaces, and   
reluctantly gets up from his knees to step around the Hound.]

**Finrod**:   
--Amarie. --Is that how you see them? Or only all of us that are dead?

[silence. They stare at each other with extreme intensity -- her shock at the   
surprise takes a moment to fade]

**Amarie**: [flatly]   
--What dost thou here?

**Finrod**:   
A friend summoned me. I don't ignore such things. --Especially when it's Huan.

**Beren**: [astonished]   
--That's Amarie?

**Luthien**:   
Oh, this is your old girlfriend?

**Amarie**: [furious]   
Wretch, what hast thou said of me?

**Beren**:   
--This is Amarie?

**Amarie**: [through her teeth]   
--And am I thus made sport for a Secondborn barbarian, and a mockery for   
usurpers as well as renegades?

**Finrod**: [iron]   
Do not speak ill of my friend.

[she snorts in disdain]

**Amarie**:   
He is dead, withal.

**Finrod**:   
So am I.

**Amarie**: [scoffing]   
Thou? Thou art merely affected and that right willfully, thou miscreant.

**Beren**: [confused]   
--Affected? --Does that mean something different here?

**Luthien**:   
Not that I've heard.

[to Amarie]

Now you hear me, you can't insult my cousin that way -- or any other way,   
I won't have it.

**Amarie**: [without heat, very matter-of-factly]   
Silence, thou shameless recusant. Thou'rt naught but a savage, for all thy   
shadowed folk name thee princess, and the more so to roam the wildwood in   
garment of suspect sorcery and thine own hair--!

[Luthien is momentarily speechless. Beren winces, glances at Finrod]

**Finrod**:   
Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

**Beren**:   
Oh yeah. -- No cover at all.

**Finrod**:   
What an inopportune time for Huan to run off. He'd be adequate cover for us both.

**Beren**:   
Hey -- it could be worse.

[pause]

**Finrod**:   
It was.

[Both studiously avoid each other's eyes for a moment. Futile -- each steals a look,   
and simultaneously bursts into uncontrollable laughter.]

**Amarie**: [affronted, turning her wrath on them]   
What, pray tell, dost so amuse?

[Beren and Finrod try to look serious. Attempt fails utterly.]

**Finrod**: [leaning on Beren's shoulder, doubled over]   
"Dumb Stunts of the Noldor," number I-couldn't-begin-to-guess-which, out of   
very-likely-infinity--

**Beren**: [being the Voice of Reason]   
It was a good plan, it just needed some tweaking. Huan even said so. It   
worked fine the second time--

**Finrod**:   
Right.

[wiping eyes]

--Would you care to explain what definition of "fine" you're using?

**Beren**:   
Hey, just because I blew it afterwards doesn't change the fact that the plan   
worked perfectly.

**Finrod**:   
What were we thinking?

**Beren**:   
Hey -- you want stupid? You wouldn't think anyone could forget this, would you?

[gesturing with his right wrist]

Carcaroth charges and instead of bracing the end of it against the side of   
my foot and using my elbow to help stabilize it, I go to level it at him like   
I still had two hands and he brushes it aside like I was poking him with a   
cattail instead. How dumb is that?

**Finrod**: [scoffs]   
What about "leave the talking to me, I can handle him," --never mind the fact   
that we're talking about a being who helped build the world itself, older by   
comparison to me than I am to you -- no, I'll just take care of him!

**Beren**:   
No, no, nothing on me. You gotta hear the whole story -- you're not going to   
believe most of it.

**Finrod**:   
I don't believe most of it anyway. Not even the parts I was present for.

[they lose it again -- Luthien sighs and shakes her head; Amarie is staring in   
horrified fascination]

**Amarie**:   
What doth so amuse?

**Luthien**: [dryly]   
Wolves.

**Amarie**:   
Wolves?!?

[Luthien nods]

And thou dost think naught on't?

**Luthien**: [shrugging]   
I can't laugh about it -- but I won't deny them the right. It's their battle.   
--Beren doesn't find anything remotely amusing in the parts of my adventures   
I find funny after the fact.

**Amarie**:   
--Madness!

**Beren**: [recovering enough to argue]   
Yeah, but what about me blowing our cover?

**Finrod**:   
That wasn't you, that was me. Besides, we were insane then.

**Beren**:   
Well, I certainly was. I distinctly remember calling you "Ma" on more than   
one occasion.

**Finrod**: [reasonably]   
Yes -- and I answered.

[unsteadily they endeavor to regain self-possession]

**Beren**: [nodding towards Amarie]   
Now she's going to think we're completely crazy.

**Finrod**:   
Oh, I'm sure she already does. All of Tirion thinks so, or so I've been   
informed, and no doubt they think it on the seacoast and in Valmar too.   
Besides, she told me so when I left: this will merely confirm her opinion   
irrefutably.

**Amarie**: [acidly]   
Wouldst thou leave off this affectation that I am not present, while thou   
dost speak of me, else cease from the same? Or shall that prove too much   
in the way of civilized manners for thee, Finrod?

**Beren**: [sobering up]   
Would you rather we talk about you when you can't hear and respond, milady?   
Is that how they do it in civilized society?

**Finrod**: [to Beren]   
For someone who isn't real, you make a lot of sense, you know.

**Beren**:   
Thank you. --I try.

**Amarie**: [outraged]   
I shall not be insulted by an -- an Aftercomer.

**Finrod**: [to Beren]   
I thought you asked her a serious question.

**Beren**:   
Me too.

**Amarie**:   
Finrod, presumest not to disregard me, nor speak me past as I were but   
a carven figure!

**Finrod**: [becoming quite focussed]   
But you ordered me not to speak to you -- you made that one of the conditions   
of ever getting the chance to ask for your forgiveness again. Are you going   
to hold this against me, start the yen over again, because I'm doing what   
you're telling me to do now? Amarie, I haven't got the strength for this. I   
apologized. You got angry. I'm not allowed to apologize, or to seek you out,   
and now apparently you're angry with me for obeying you. If you're going to   
play these games with me, then I'll stay here till the end of Arda and work   
on my songs. There's a wonderful group of musicians here, and the acoustics   
are excellent. What do you want me to do?

**Amarie**:   
Oh! Thou mocker!

**Luthien**: [incandescent]   
What?!? You set him an impossible task and then you punish him for doing it?

**Amarie**:   
Thou art the one to talk, forsooth. To name a Silmaril for thy dowry --!

**Luthien**: [rolling her eyes]   
Not this again -- That wasn't my idea.

**Amarie**:   
What matters that, when the end's the same? Dost thou know what he endured   
for thy sake, thou spoilt daughter of the twilight?

**Luthien**: [mildly]   
Yes, I rather think I do. Better than you, by far. I was the one who discovered   
them, you know. And helped with the burying.

[raising her voice and pointing to her husband and kinsman]

How could I not?! I took care of Beren afterwards and listened to him talk   
about it -- when he could talk -- night after night after night, I washed   
his corpse--

**Finrod**: [embarrassed]   
Luthien, please--

**Luthien**:   
--of course I know! So don't try to put your guilt at not being there on me.

**Amarie**: [indignant]   
Guilt? I have no guilt. I did not rebel, wherefore I have no reason to   
reproach myself.

**Luthien**: [ironic smile]   
Yes, well, I'm sure that's your story.

**Amarie**:   
Story? 'Tis but the truth.

**Luthien**: [more serious]   
I don't know. I look at you and I think -- if that were true she'd be far   
more unhappy and far less angry. It feels like something of an act to me --   
keep your temper hot with us, and then you won't have to think about how   
differently things might have gone if you'd gone with him and help keep   
control of matters all along.

**Amarie**: [shortly]   
My parents and elders forbade it.

**Luthien**: [raising an eyebrow]   
--And? Did they lock you up in a tower, too?

**Amarie**:   
--And I honor them, -- as is my filial duty.

[Finrod makes a stifled noise, but is straightfaced by the time she glares at him]

As I honor the gods and do obey them without question.

[Luthien shrugs]

**Luthien**:   
-Indeed. I suppose you have to stick to your story now.

**Amarie**:   
Again with this talk of stories! Have thy Turned people no knowledge of the   
truth then, to judge all as falsehoods?

[Luthien gives her an ominous look -- no more quarter to give]

**Luthien**:   
I don't know you. I can't tell if you were truly being principled, or just   
too afraid of being different, or of being disapproved, or of the dangers   
even. Don't interrupt me! I do hope that it's the former -- I trust as much,   
because I know Finrod, and his judgment weighs in your favor. But the way   
it's all woven together is something only you know, or perhaps only the One.   
But you made your choice, and Finrod made his, and they were irreconcilable.   
End of stanza. New verse. He's back, he's said he's sorry, and he's proven   
it by letting your wishes command him. What is your problem?

**Amarie**: [ice]   
My problem is no more than this -- thanks to thy meddling and willfulness,   
the one I should have wed died an exile and outcast, in the torments of the   
Enemy so that thou and this vagabond of thine could wed in despite of all   
graciousness and reason.

**Luthien**: [offhand]   
Don't blame us for what you should blame yourself for. --At least no one's   
trying to forcibly split you up and keep you from ever seeing him again for   
all of eternity!

**Finrod**:   
Er -- just to be clear on matters -- that's Luthien's viewpoint, not mine.   
I never said any of it was your -- ah, her -- fault.

[to Luthien, sharply]

What was that last bit there?

[the next two exchanges overlap]

**Luthien**:   
They want Beren to leave and me to stay and I won't have it.

**Amarie**: [to Finrod]   
Do not presume to address me!

**Luthien**: [condescending]   
Now, don't get angry because you're getting what you demanded. I really don't   
understand your problem at all. Do you love him? If yes, work to a solution.   
If not, give it up. Let it go -- what does it matter if he suffers or not, if   
he doesn't mean anything to you any more? Go find a hobby, get on with your   
life, why don't you.

**Amarie**:   
Such facile japery is but to be expected from one born to the darkness.

**Luthien**: [maddeningly slow emphasis]   
Whether I am a Dark-elf or not has no bearing on my question. Do you love him?   
Yes or no answer.

**Amarie**: [just as patronizing]   
Plain thou wouldst have it -- yet it hath not such simplicity. Of course I   
didst love him, but--

**Luthien**: [cutting her off]   
-- No. You've got it all wrong. It's and. Never "but" -- "I love you, and--"

**Amarie**: [still more patronizing]   
I ken not what thou wouldst convey.

**Luthien**:   
"--I love you, and I don't want you to do this." "--I love you, and this is   
stupid." "--I love you, and I'm going with you." It isn't really that complicated.   
--Or else you didn't really love him.

[pause]

**Amarie**: [ice]   
I have neither heart nor time for folly.

[looks to where Nienna's Apprentice was standing -- and is quite obviously not now]

--Where has that strange youth betaken himself? He was to guide me to his   
Master's presence.

**Finrod**:   
I'm not surprised he's made himself scarce, considering how much I'd like to   
do the same thing myself.

**Beren**: [looking around]   
Huan hasn't come back yet either.

**Finrod**: [dry]   
Well, I've always had a high opinion of his intelligence.

**Amarie**:   
I'll not stand here and be insulted by such compare!

**Luthien**:   
Yes, well, why don't you do that then?

**Amarie**: [as if to a crazy person or a small child]   
Do? --What?

**Luthien**:   
Walk away, since you won't stand for it.

[Amarie gives a blazing look towards Finrod, who is wearing a suspiciously   
innocent expression]

**Amarie**: [softly]   
And so thou'lt stand by and see me mocked, even? I'll go, then, and find   
the Lady myself and bring her my plaint, if I must walk these Halls till even.

[she turns abruptly and strides away towards the corridor without another word   
or backwards look]

**Finrod**: [raising his voice]   
If she would listen to me, I would tell her that it might not work. Distance   
and direction aren't exactly the same here as they are Outside.

[she still does not look or pause, though there is a visible if controlled reaction   
in the set of her shoulders and lifted chin. After she is no longer visible from the   
doorway the place seems a lot larger and dimmer. Finrod gives a sigh half of relief,   
half of regret, as Luthien moves to him and puts her arm around his shoulders in a   
consoling gesture.]

**Finrod**:   
That could have gone much worse.

**Luthien**: [tight]   
I don't see how.

**Finrod**:   
For a moment there I thought she might try to hit me again.

[rubs his jaw reminiscently]

For someone with no combat training who, quote, disapproves of violence,   
unquote, she did an excellent job of knocking me part-way across the table   
before we left.

[pulling himself together -- as if the last few minutes hadn't happened at all:]

You were going to fill in the details omitted from the condensed version,   
and I was going to find us somewhere to sit. I suppose -- I wonder what the   
purpose of it is? -- that quaint little informal garden might serve the purpose.

[he takes their hands as though to lead them to the hill, but this is interrupted   
by the loud entrance of Huan, dashing in as if in pursuit of an animal -- he skids   
to a stop just short of Finrod and begins to vigorously lavish canine attention on him]

**Beren**:   
Hey! Hey! Easy! You're gonna knock someone over.

**Finrod**: [laughing]   
--Are you going to do this every time you see me, old Hound?

**Luthien**:   
Huan, sit!

[Huan does so, grinning]

**Vaire**: [stern]   
Finarfinion. --What are you doing here?

[she approaches from the doorway; Finrod bows.]

**Finrod**:   
Conversing with my cousin and my friends, my Lady.

**Vaire**: [darkly]   
That had better be all.

[to Luthien -- gently]

What seems to be the difficulty, dear?

[she notices the Hill -- to Finrod:]

What is that?!?

**Finrod**: [pleasantly]   
Amazing, isn't it? It seems to be the real thing. I'm sure the grass is longer   
than it was a little while ago.

**Vaire**: [almost speechless]   
I -- said --

**Finrod**:   
And I haven't. It was already there when I came in.

**Luthien**:   
Tulkas' wife put it there.

**Vaire**:   
Oh.

[pause -- shaking her head:]

I wonder why.

[to Luthien]

Would you please come and sit down with us so that we can get this situation   
taken care of?

**Luthien**: [lifting her hands]   
What part of "not without Beren" is so hard to understand? Should I set it to   
a melody and sing it instead?

**Vaire**:   
Child, please don't be difficult.

**Luthien**:   
Difficult? Believe me, I haven't even started being difficult.

[she is getting the combat look again]

**Finrod**: [murmuring]   
--Tact, cousin, tact.

**Luthien**:   
I tried that. It hasn't worked at all to date.

[Beren turns her towards him]

**Beren**: [quietly but earnest]   
Tinuviel. --Don't let them make you crazy. We're together now. We can get   
through this. If they're willing to talk, the situation isn't hopeless. Not   
all concessions are bad ideas. Go with the Lady -- she said they want to hear   
you. That's a good thing, right?

**Finrod**:   
You didn't marry a fool, Luthien.

[after a moment she sighs and nods, though her expression is still very hard.   
Putting her arms around Beren's neck:]

**Luthien**: [softly]   
Stay close to him, don't go wandering about on your own, don't let anyone   
talk you into agreeing to anything, even if it seems harmless this time,   
--don't even talk to strangers if you can avoid it, and wait here for me.   
I'm going to sort this nonsense out once and for all.

[she kisses him briefly and reassuringly]

**Beren**:   
But -- these are your mother's people, in a way, really -- they wouldn't do   
anything to us, would they? They're kind of family, aren't they?

**Luthien**:   
Beren. --Listen to what you just said.

[pause]

**Beren**: [smiles wryly]   
Point taken.

**Luthien**: [to Huan]   
Will you stay here and help look after Beren?

**Beren**: [looking at the ceiling]   
I tried that once.

[Huan wags his tail twice]

**Finrod**:   
Don't worry, we'll take care of him.

**Luthien**:   
I know.

[she starts to follow, then turns back and gives Beren a quick intense kiss, and   
then darts to hug Finrod again before reluctantly accompanying Vaire. The Weaver   
gives Finrod a frown, seeming about to say something, but changes her mind. The   
three of them are left alone. There is a brief silence, during which Huan melts   
away into the shadows again; while the other two look at each other uncertainly   
in a renewal of shyness.]

**Finrod**:   
How are you -- honestly?

[pause]

**Beren**:   
It's not as bad as it has been.

[Finrod sighs, unsurprised]

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to depress you--

**Finrod**: [very emphatically]   
Beren. Do not, I beg you most fervently, if you have any compassion whatsoever,   
apologize for having been killed. --Unless it really is your wish to leave me   
still more depressed.

[pause]

**Beren**: [quieter]   
All right.

[pause]

**Finrod**: [forced briskness]   
Where's Huan? He seems to have gone off again.

**Beren**: [shaking his head]   
That's what I said. It's like you said, back when -- Huan's his own dog,   
and no mistake.

[almost smiling]

And he's our dog, too.

[smile fading]

He's always right, even when I've disagreed with him, so he's probably doing   
something to help me again, even though he shouldn't.

**Finrod**:   
Why shouldn't he?

**Beren**:   
Because I don't deserve it.

**Finrod**:   
Beren--

**Beren**: [changing subject]   
Sir -- how are you? Are -- are you well? Are you -- treated well? I can't really   
tell anything about what it's like here -- it's too big, or something and it's   
just sort of strange and blurry -- and I can't tell much about the people, there's   
been some shouting, but no one's shoved any spears or other pointed objects in   
my face yet or threatened to chain me up, so so far I'm not complaining.

**Finrod**:   
No. No chains, here. It's -- very peaceful. A trifle dull, perhaps, but -- not   
unpleasant. Not for me, at least. Plenty of time to think, which some people   
find trying, but I don't mind it. And no responsibilities, which is an immense   
relief. I'd not expected that . . . I had no idea how much I was attempting to   
keep under control these last few decades, until I no longer had to do so.

**Beren**:   
I'm--

**Finrod**: [raising his hand abruptly]   
No apologies for that, either.

[this leaves Beren with nothing to say for the moment]

I really don't understand why you've had so much awful luck. It can't be   
explained merely by your own actions. There does seem to be something to that   
saying, "Circumstances conspired against them."

**Beren**:   
Mm.

[giving him an uncertain glance]

You know something? I just realized -- we're related now. By marriage at least.

[Finrod looks taken aback]

**Finrod**: [sounding dismayed]   
Oh. You're right. I'd forgotten about that as well. Oh dear.

[sighing]

You don't deserve that on top of everything that's already happened. There's   
been far too much chaos and madness in your life already.

**Beren**:   
Uh--

**Finrod**: [changing subject himself]   
So that's what the Loom looks like when it's off. --Hm.

[he looks at it with a considering expression]

I wonder if . . .

[trailing off]

**Beren**:   
Um -- not to sound critical or anything, but -- I always thought there was   
actual string involved, somehow.

**Finrod**: [nods]   
So did I.

[Beren looks surprised]

--What? I hadn't seen it either.

**Beren**:   
Oh.

**Finrod**:   
I never tried to mislead your family --

**Beren**: [earnestly]   
No, no -- I wasn't saying you did -- it could have been us, too, messing things   
up, or even just me not paying attention.

**Finrod**: [just as earnest]   
Please, don't denigrate yourself. I was saying, I didn't misrepresent   
deliberately -- but there were many, many things which I didn't understand,   
or of which I have a much better understanding now. Some of my explanations   
were in retrospect too facile, oversimplified, or at least open to   
misunderstanding. Especially about things having to do with the Halls.   
And I'm lecturing again, aren't I?

**Beren**: [softly]   
It's all right -- I don't mind.

[nods towards the Loom]

She made it do something, right before you two came in, but I don't know how   
she did it.

[Finrod gives him a quick look]

**Finrod**:   
You say that as though you're expecting me to start tinkering with it.

[pause]

**Beren**:   
You mean you're not?

[they share a somewhat hesitant grin; Finrod moves as though about to put a hand   
on Beren's shoulder, but doesn't quite know if he ought -- the awkwardness of their   
reunion is cut short by a familiar voice from the doorway:]

**Captain**:   
There you are, Sir.

[Beren instinctively moves behind Finrod, trying to vanish as the Captain comes up]

--Are we supposed to be back here? I'm sorry, I still haven't been able to   
establish exactly what's all the ruckus--

[Finrod steps back, saying nothing]

--Beren?!?

[he grabs Beren, dragging him practically off his feet into a bear-hug -- setting   
him down, catches his shoulders and gives him a little shake, staring at him, then   
hugs him again]

Sweet Cuivienen, lad -- we thought we'd lost you forever.

[letting him go, but still keeping an arm around his shoulders, --to Finrod:]

Sir, it's Beren--

[--then laughs at himself]

**Finrod**: [smiling]   
I know. As, apparently, do most of the greater and lesser Powers in this place.

**Captain**:   
You mean all this trouble's over him?

**Beren**: [hoarse]   
--Surprised?

**Finrod**:   
Yes, for once it's actually not us.

**Captain**: [troubled look]   
Only -- this means--

[looking at Finrod:]

--how long has it been, Sir?

**Finrod**: [meaningfully]   
Not long enough.

**Beren**:   
About half a year. A little more.

**Captain**: [very grim]   
What happened?

**Beren**:   
A -- lot of things.

[he is barely managing to control his emotions]

**Captain**:   
Beren -- and what of your lady--?

**Beren**:   
She--

[he cannot continue]

**Finrod**:   
My cousin's pulling strings with the Powers to keep Beren from being sent   
Beyond. They, of course, think that they are convincing her to act in their best   
interests by letting him go. Which of them has the correct understanding of the   
situation has yet to be determined -- it's all very much in flux. I'm still   
catching up with the background, but the present difficulty seems clear enough.

**Captain**: [frowning]   
Resolvable, Sire?

**Finrod**: [edged smile]   
If I have any say in it, yes. We'll need -- oh, good.

[The Steward enters a second after he finishes speaking, and has nearly crossed   
the floor to them before he does a double take at the third member of the trio.   
After a moment's blank stare at Beren, he looks to the other two and then, seemingly   
accepting without further question, lets his gaze travel back to the Man.]

**Steward**: [formal]   
My lord Barahirion.

[he bows, very correctly]

**Beren**:   
Sir --

[he moves forward, from under the Captain's hand, and then halts, looking helplessly   
at the other Elf-lord]

**Steward**:   
I confess myself at a loss for words.

**Beren**:   
--Sir, I'm so sorry -- I--

**Steward**:   
Please -- do not distress yourself upon my account.

**Beren**: [choked]   
--I saw your bones.

**Steward**: [coolly]   
That is all in the past.

[noticing, frowns -- in a different tone]

What happened--

[Before he can finish asking the question, the entrance of the rest of the Ten,   
noisily accompanied by Huan, interrupts him.]

**First Guard**:   
Milords, look who's playing sheepdog -- Beren!?!

[At once Beren is surrounded by them and mobbed enthusiastically by eight Elven-   
warriors' shades, all trying to slap him on the back, fling their arms around   
his shoulders, ruffle his hair and embrace him like a long-lost sibling. He is   
completely overcome and gives up even trying to speak, simply accepting their   
welcome. Finrod looks on, wearing a rather rueful smile.]

**Captain**: [gently amused]   
Now then, now then, take turns, don't throttle the Beoring all at once.

[they spread out, abashed, but still fiercely possessive, dividing demonstrations   
of affection between Beren and Huan.]

**Warrior**: [grinning]   
I suppose that means it's all right if we do it singly, then -- Beren, what   
happened to your hand?

**Beren**: [heavily]   
It's a long story.

**Warrior**:   
--That bad?

[Beren gives a wry grimace, not quite a smile]

**Second Guard**: [concerned]   
Why are you still here? Are you in trouble again?

**Beren**:   
Er--

[the Soldier is looking around with interest at the Hall and its decoration, or   
lack thereof]

**Soldier**: [to the elder of the two subordinate Rangers]   
Well, that answers that. It's as boring here as it is everywhere else. They   
really like it that way -- it isn't for some therapeutic reason. Pay up.

[the Ranger sighs and hands over a brooch, manifesting it as he does]

**Ranger**:   
I like the little ridge though, -- even if it doesn't really seem to fit with   
the rest of the decor.

**Beren**:   
She made that.

**Steward**: [frowning]   
Who? Lady Vaire?

**Beren**:   
No. Her -- um, the Lady of Summer, the Bride.

**Captain**:   
Oh, yes, that makes sense. The roses especially -- they look like her style.

**Steward**:   
--Nessa was here?

**Beren**:   
And Lord Astaldo -- he -- he was--

**Captain**: [knowingly]   
They're a bit much to take, either one of them.

**Beren**:   
Yeah, but -- actually, he was really nice. They both were. Just -- a little --

**Captain**:   
--Overpowering?

[Beren nods]

**Captain**:   
I know. They're wonderful people, but very little sense of restraint. If you   
ever go to one of their parties, don't ever let Tulkas talk you into a drinking   
contest. --Or Nessa, for that matter.

**Guard**:   
That girl who works for them, who is she, -- Measse, that's it -- did a pretty   
good job of drinking you under the table back in the day, sir.

**Captain**: [mock indignation]   
And how would you know but by hearsay, eh? You were long since past consciousness,   
as I recall.

**Beren**: [eyes widening]   
That's not the -- the same Measse you ask that you'll come home at the end of   
a fight?

[silence]

**Youngest Ranger**: [whispering]   
I'm not used to this either.

**Finrod**: [briskly]   
All right then, everyone! Catch up later -- we have work to do.

[he gestures for the Steward and the Captain to draw near, while the rest hang   
about, beginning to drift off and sightsee around the staff area of the Halls.]

I want all of you to stay here and guard Beren -- I've promised Luthien I'd   
look after him for her. Will you make sure nothing happens to him while I go   
and see a few people who might be helpful?

**Captain**:   
You know you've no need to ask that.

**Finrod**: [quick smile]   
I know. --But it's more polite that way.

**Soldier**: [overhearing]   
Ah, Sir, -- what could happen to him here?

**Finrod**: [shaking his head]   
I've neither idea nor the wish to find out.

**Captain**: [with a meaningful look]   
All of us, Sire?

**Finrod**:   
I'd feel better that way.

**Steward**:   
Are you certain that's wise, my lord?

**Finrod**: [edged]   
I can take care of myself. There's no trouble here that I can't handle very   
well on my own.

**Captain**: [raising an eyebrow]   
Shouldn't that be, --none that you haven't handled as of yet?

[Beren, with a worried expression, puts his hand on Finrod's arm]

**Beren**:   
Sir, I don't want you to get in any trouble because of me.

**Finrod**:   
It won't be because of you.

**Beren**: [urgent]   
But if you're trying to find help for me and Luthien, then it would be. I don't   
want to owe you any more, Sir. I -- I couldn't live with that.

[pause]

I mean . . .

**Finrod**:   
Beren, you're not in my debt: I owed your father my life.

**Beren**:   
But my father didn't get killed saving your life!

**Finrod**: [getting exasperated]   
You know that's irrelevant. Do you think that the lives of your companions   
were worth less than your own or your families? No. You don't. And neither do   
I. Lots of people did get killed at Serech. You're the last Beoring, you get   
to collect on it, like it or not.

**Captain**: [rolling his eyes]   
Not this again!

[the Soldier has still been standing nearby, listening with concern]

**Soldier**: [aside, to the Captain]   
What's going on, Sir?

**Captain**:   
It's the "Endless Battle." You know -- The Argument.

**Soldier**:   
No, I don't know. What about?

**Captain**:   
That's right -- you were first, that was after your time. They're arguing over   
whose fault it is more.

**Soldier**: [bemused]   
Oh. But--

**Captain**:   
Not what you're thinking, lad -- the other way round.

**Warrior**: [interrupting]   
Where are they up to?

**Captain**: [listening]   
Going over the mountains west, as opposed to what we actually did and what   
might or might not have happened in various hypothetical situations which   
did not, obviously, occur.

**Warrior**: [heartfelt]   
Damn. They're just getting started, then.

**Third Guard**:   
What are we up to now? Anyone remember the tally?

**Ranger**:   
I lost count after twelve-score.

**Soldier**:   
--But why are they arguing?

**Captain**: [snorts]   
What, they need a reason to claim responsibility for every earthly mishap?   
Remember who you're talking about: "I ought to have Seen and single-handedly   
prevented the Kinslaying," on the one hand, against, "If only I'd been killed   
at Aeluin everything in the world would be fine."

**Steward**:   
It was at four hundred eighty, and eleven, when I was taken. Or one, depending   
on whether you subscribe to the view that it's all actually one long Argument   
with breaks. I was counting every time they repeated an exchange as a new   
engagement.

**First Guard**:   
There were times when I could have killed the both of them myself, or myself,   
just to get away from it.

**Ranger**: [quietly]   
It was worse when they stopped, though.

[sighs and nods of agreement from the final veterans]

**Beren**:   
But you asked me my opinion about that and I agreed it was risky--

**Finrod**: [cutting him off]   
You know you didn't feel competent to contradict me, because of your youth,   
regardless of the fact that in terms of actual field experience of recent date--

**Steward**: [looking up at the vaulting, fervently]   
Dear sweet Lady, make themstop!

**Ranger**:   
That doesn't work here either, sir. I don't think anything can.

**Youngest Ranger**: [muttering]   
--That's because they're both swarn.

**Finrod**:   
Beren, I'm the eldest, I was in command, I should have known better--

**Captain**:   
Great Mother of Spiders, no, no, NO!!! I am not listening to this for another   
hundred-forty-three years, can you imagine?!

**Steward**:   
Most unfortunately -- yes.

**Beren**:   
But I shouldn't have just--

**Captain**:   
That's it, no more, I've had it --

[shouting]

Hey! You two! Would you stop it? We already know how this goes, we don't need   
to hear it again!

"--It's my fault, I shouldn't have involved anyone else in the first place."

"--No, it was my decision to get involved, not yours."

"--But you had to help me, you didn't have a choice."

"--You only had authority over me because I gave it you to begin with.   
Besides, I was in charge of the entire operation, therefore any and all   
responsibility is solely mine."

"--There wouldn't have been any operation if I hadn't started it all, so   
it is really my fault."

[normal tone]

--Did I cover everything?

**Warrior**:   
You forgot "But your entire civilization was collateral damage in our war--"

**Fourth Guard**:   
--and "but we wouldn't have had a civilization without you--"

**Steward**:   
But otherwise I think you touched upon all the salient points with admirable   
succinctness. I couldn't have done it better.

**Youngest Ranger**:   
You did the voices very well, too, sir.

[absolute silence. Finrod and Beren look at each other, guiltily. Both of them   
start to say something, several times, and can't.]

**Steward**: [amazed]   
--Holy Stars. It actually worked.

**Captain**: [bland]   
Of course, if you absolutely insist, we could always test out the Ered Wethrin   
hypothesis the way we did with the Bragollach.

**Finrod**:   
Ahem. I think -- I should go and see -- about doing -- what it was I was going   
to do. Now. --Excuse me.

[he turns and leaves abruptly]

**Fourth Guard**:   
--Did we go too far?

**Beren**: [shaking head]   
No, he just couldn't keep a straight face much longer and we already got   
our ears ripped good by Amarie for inappropriate behavior once this . . .   
well, already.

[The mention of Amarie's name brings varied and strong reactions]

**Steward**:   
Amarie?

**Captain**:   
She's here? --What happened?

**Warrior**:   
We're doomed. She's absolutely ruthless.

**Steward**:   
Amarie?

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Was there an accident?

**Second Guard**:   
There aren't accidents here.

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Do you mean "here" here, or "here" as in Aman?

**Second Guard**:   
Aman "here." Besides, she's Vanyar, what would she need to learn here?

**Steward**:   
The Lady Amarie? You're sure?

**Beren**:   
Er, tall, blonde, and answering to the name of "Amarie" --?

**Captain**:   
Hard to think who else it would be. --Don't worry, even if she is here, I   
imagine she's still against violence.

[the Steward gives him an annoyed Look]

--Not that that can't be conveniently forgotten. Again.

**Beren**:   
Not -- here like us. Just -- here.

**Warrior**:   
How?

**Beren**: [exasperated]   
I don't know. All I know is that she didn't want to be here and she kind of   
laid down the law to the guy who brought her here that she wasn't interested   
in talking to Finrod and then spent a long time yelling at him anyway. The   
King, not the other guy. --And us. And then she was losing to Tinuviel so   
she went off in a huff to complain to whoever it was who sent for her. If   
anyone said who it was I missed it.

[pause]

**Steward**:   
Ah. That's interesting.

**Captain**:   
Very interesting.

**Steward**:   
Bets?

**Captain**: [snorts]   
--No! You cheat.

**Steward**: [haughty]   
Employing the Sight is not cheating if all other parties are well aware that   
one possesses it. Besides, it's neither guaranteed nor infallible.

**Soldier**:   
Then how come you always win, sir?

**Steward**: [austere]   
Luck.

[several of the Ten exchange significant Looks]

**Beren**:   
Okay, why are you worried about people ambushing him? Who would do that,   
and why? --And how?

**Captain**:   
It's a long story -- not quite so long as Noldolante, however -- but I   
suppose that technically we did start it, at the very beginning--

**Steward**:   
--Not just technically--

**Captain**:   
--by pounding the hell out of a Feanorian or two followed by lessons in Why   
Pell-work Is Not Enough Nor Will You Encounter The Rules Of Formal Combat   
In The Wild, followed in turn by -- the worst cut of all -- apologies.

**Beren**:   
But why were you guys beating up Feanor's partisans? Or was there a reason?

**Ranger**: [wryly]   
There's always a reason. Even if it's just the appellation "House Feanor."

**Captain**:   
Oh, there was an unpleasant fellow who likes to hang about the High King and   
act as though he's a notable at court again -- one of quite a few, but this   
chap has the gift for getting on one's nerves like you wouldn't believe. He   
was one of their top Elves back when Maedhros was still High King, and he   
never stops letting people know how he was the Second Casualty in the War.   
Apparently we're all supposed to accept his assumption that Grey and Green   
losses don't count.

[snorts]

Why he's so proud of being too dumb to figure out it was an ambush in   
advance -- particularly since they were planning on it themselves, and   
surely an evil god with centuries' practice at deceit and betrayal ought   
to be able to think of such a thing himself -- and of not succeeding in   
covering his lord's retreat and thus making his death count for something,   
I have yet to figure out. But there you have it. At any rate, we hadn't been   
here very long -- no idea what that would be in the Outside, I'm afraid, but   
it didn't seem very long -- when he turned up while our lord was relating our   
misadventures to his uncle and made so bold as to provide unasked-for   
commentary. He found the story most diverting.

**Beren**: [lethally cold]   
He was making fun of the King? --And you all?

**Captain**: [nods]   
I warned him not to make light of what he didn't understand, as Himself was   
being too dignified to pay attention to such offensive behavior. I did so,   
in no uncertain terms. --He laughed again.

**Beren**:   
Then what happened?

**Captain**:   
He discovered that the imagined experience of being picked up by the collar   
and slammed repeatedly against a stone wall was nearly as unpleasant as the   
actuality.

**Soldier**:   
Then we laughed.

**Captain**:   
Then he complained bitterly to the High King, who found it tiresome, until   
it was suggested -- I'm sure you can guess by whom -- that he issue a challenge   
and endeavor to satisfy his honor in the traditional way. After some balking   
about whether or not such a thing would be possible, and this being decisively   
demonstrated -- again by the King -- he did so.

**Beren**:   
And?

**Captain**:   
I was still quite angry. --He should have known that His Majesty wasn't   
making the suggestion out of a pure disinterested sense of fair play -- but   
if he hadn't the brains to be wary of taking any free advice from someone   
he'd just been insulting, that's hardly our responsibility, now.

**Ranger**:   
It was very funny.

**Steward**: [sighing]   
Since then the situation has somewhat escalated, as might have been expected,   
though perhaps not to the scale that has from time to time been reached.

**Beren**:   
That's why you are in -- in trouble all the time? You're fighting with the   
guys from House Feanor?

**Captain**:   
Well, it isn't all the time.

**First Guard**:   
And we certainly aren't the only ones.

**Soldier**:   
Replace "fighting with" with "polishing the floor with" and you'll be closer.

**Warrior**:   
I still think we'd have been all right if we had left the walls alone.

**Captain**:   
No, because someone would still have complained until the rafters rang due   
to the fact that every single time time we kicked their sorry hindquarters   
back to Himring, except for the one time we did "Under Stars" and tossed   
them into the sea.

**Steward**:   
That, I think, was the unforgivable insult.

**Captain**:   
Yes, well, you saying afterwards that Dagor-nuin-Giliad was a case history   
in basic strategy and every recruit these days studied the tactical errors   
made by Feanor before learning how to manage a spear and a horse at the   
same time didn't exactly help.

**Steward**: [sharply]   
It's no more than the truth.

**Captain**:   
It was more the tone of voice. Besides, it's just as true that we've beat   
them roundly on every occasion. Hence the sneak attacks and the complaints.

**Warrior**:   
But if we hadn't moved the walls, Lady Vaire wouldn't have gotten involved.

**Steward**:   
I do not recommend wagering anything on that unproveable possibility.

**Beren**:   
I'm sorry, but -- this isn't making any sense.

**Captain**:   
It's a long story.

[pause]

**Beren**: [wry]   
As long as the Return of the Noldor?

**Captain**: [ironic]   
Not quite.

[from this point, with that routine, in spite of recurring guilt attacks, any   
lingering reserve on Beren's part is gone -- he settles back into their old   
familiarities]

**Beren**:   
Okay, so what happened? --Is happening? Whichever.

**Captain**:   
Ever since the Dagor Bragollach, various parties here have been fighting   
over how it might have gone differently. The most obstreperous of the lot   
were those who went West at the "Glorious Battle", because they had the   
experience of winning easily at the "Battle-under-Stars", the first one   
fought after the Return.

**Beren**:   
Yeah, I remember, that's the one we used to play in the door-yard on moonless   
nights. --Boy, did we get in trouble for beating on the "Gates" of "Angband"   
with sticks when we did the Coming of Fingolfin. Huh.

[he shakes his head in bemusement at it all.]

**Captain**:   
Hold onto that thought, as you'd say. --When I say "fighting," I mean endless   
discussions and arguments, the sort that make a council back home look as   
quick as an exchange of hand-signals. The Old Guard was convinced that If   
Only They'd Been There, the Battle would never have been lost, and we Young   
Whelps were obviously incompetent and/or cowards to flee the field.

**Ranger**:   
As you'd expect, that didn't go over well with those who actually were there.

**Warrior**:   
But until we showed up they'd never done anything but talk about it. At nauseating length, I might add.

**Captain**:   
Then after listening to the debate cycle round twelve or fourteen times, he   
comes up and says, "Why don't you put your talk to the test and prove that   
you could have done it better?" Not in those exact words, of course, but you   
get the picture. And they all shut up for a bit, until they started jeering   
at him about how it wasn't feasible, and he said, "Well, perhaps not for you,   
by yourselves," and they said, "What, you could?" and he said nothing, and   
manifested a quarter-size copy of Glaurung in the middle of the hall. And   
some lava for him to play in.

[grinning]

After everyone had sorted themselves out, minus those who didn't feel like   
it just at the moment, and the shouting and the recriminations had died down   
to a dull roar, he asks, "Well, why didn't you shoot him?" to some of the   
more obnoxious of the old-timers, and then added, "That's what cousin Fingon   
did when the Worm was that small," and everything split into an uproar again   
with the dividing lines not being House Feanor and Everyone Else for once,   
but Those Who Were There and Those Who Weren't. And the upshot was a challenge   
to refight it, as much as possible like the real thing, with strict rules   
governing what could be done and not done, such as having to stay dead if   
killed, or your horse likewise if mounted, and not being able to make yourself   
unlimited arrows, but having to glean them off the field, or to mindspeak   
farther than you could alive. Making sense yet?

**Beren**:   
No. I think you're saying you somehow pretended to fight the Sudden Flame   
amongst yourselves in the Halls, like us when we were kids playing Lords   
of the West versus Morgoth. But I don't understand where the horses are   
coming from and the arrows and how you can be killed if you're already   
dead. --Unless you mean you have to stay down like when you get "killed"   
with a stick that's supposed to be a famous sword.

**Second Guard**: [encouraging]   
That's right. It's exactly the same thing, only instead of pretending we had   
horses and spears, we -- er --

**Steward**: [raising his eyebrows]   
--Pretended we had horses and spears.

**Beren**:   
But how would it work? And it doesn't seem like you could convince them,   
because they would still say, well, yes, but that's you, not Orcs, if you   
won. And what about the Balrogs and the fire? And anyway if you did make an   
illusion of lava, it still isn't the same because first of all, it isn't hot   
if it's an illusion, right? and second, the terrain -- the floor is flat,   
not hills and stuff, and that makes a huge difference.

**Soldier**: [wistfully]   
We should have had you helping plan it. That would have been fun.

**Captain**:   
As to your first objection, is it hot -- that depends on how convincing an   
illusion it is. Which in turn depends equally on how much the artist knows   
about the subject, and how convincingly then chooses to hold it. Not everyone   
is willing to think about such things in all their painful details. As to   
the second -- that's what the debate about the walls concerns. Though it was   
actually the floor as well as the walls.

[pause]

**Beren**: [flatly]   
Why did King Finrod move the walls? --And the floor?

**First Guard**: [grinning]   
My, he's quick.

**Beren**:   
--And, by the way, how?

**Captain**:   
Can't answer the how for you, I'm afraid -- I can't do it myself at all.   
You'll have to consult these young punks on that matter --

[gestures towards the Youngest Ranger and the Soldier]

--they're the best of us, after His Majesty. I find the stuff far too   
convincingly solid to convince myself that since one works stone, or   
anything for that matter, with one's mind equally as much as with one's   
body, with sufficient concentration and understanding one ought to be   
able to reshape matter regardless of physical contact. "After all," as   
he said, "if Lady Vaire can do it, I should be able to."

[silence -- suddenly Beren chuckles, and instantly suppresses it]

Oh yes. Why's a lot easier -- we needed a very large open space to start   
with -- we didn't do it to full scale, exactly, we had to cheat a little,   
but it was -- big. And to address that terrain problem you noted.

[pause]

**Beren**: [stunned]   
Goddess of mercy . . . you turned the Halls of Mandos into Ard-galen?!

**Ranger**: [shrugging]   
Not all the Halls, just some.

**Third Guard**:   
A little part.

**Soldier**:   
A good bit of it was illusion too -- Thangorodrim, for instance, was just the   
gates and a shell for the lower portion, since no one actually got inside it.

**Beren**:   
Good grief! -- and they let you get away with it?

**Captain**:   
For a while. Eventually they noticed and we had to stop. Which might not have   
happened if certain people hadn't gone and complained bloody murder about it.   
It really did have to do with the walls, though.

**Steward**:   
--And the fact that killing each other, even thus in seeming only, offended   
the Powers' sense of fitting behaviour within these walls.

**Warrior**: [sighing]   
I'm not sure that what the King said to her was the most tactful thing to   
say, either. Even if it was true.

**Beren**:   
Do I really want to know what it was?

**Steward**:   
His Majesty was somewhat aggrieved due to the fact that walls had been being   
reconfigured for some time prior to the reenactment, as part of his experiments,   
and that he assumed the Lady of the Halls was quite aware of it all along, it   
not occurring to any of us that she should not be.

**Warrior**:   
There was that business with the missing gallery, too, Sir.

**Steward**: [nods]   
There was.

[Beren gives him a cautious look]

Lady Vaire ordered us to remove all traces of alterations throughout the Halls.   
One of the galleries which was removed was apparently one which she herself   
had shaped as part of an expansion plan. I say "apparently", because it isn't   
certain: King Felagund maintains that the one which was his attempt at duplicating   
it was on the opposite side of the corridor, and that her Ladyship has gotten   
confused about which was which. None of the rest of us is certain. --They argue   
about this from time to time, to no certain resolution.

**Beren**:   
. . .

**Captain**:   
Look, this is tiresome, standing around. Why don't we make use of the hill   
that Nessa's kindly left for us and make ourselves comfortable.

**Steward**: [looking up at the ceiling and shaking his head]   
You would think that a pile of dirt and weeds looked comfortable.

**Captain**:   
Weeds! Those are flowers, Edrahil -- can't you tell the difference? And by   
comparison to a stone floor -- most definitely, wouldn't you agree?

**Steward**: [ignoring him]   
It seems to be rapidly becoming overgrown with wild roses. Not cultivars, and   
therefore weeds. And very likely with their natural thorns, and thus not comfortable.

**Beren**: [trying to interrupt]   
Sirs--

**Youngest Ranger**: [smiling wryly]   
Don't waste the effort, Beren.

[he puts an arm over Beren's shoulders and leads the way]

We'll just have to make sure we take the grassy bits and leave the thorns   
for Lord Edrahil so he'll have something to complain about.

**Steward**: [to the world at large]   
--Young people these days.

**Beren**: [as everyone settles down on the Hill]   
So . . . who played us?

**Fourth Guard**:   
We didn't actually do our bit, because it wasn't important in terms of the   
overall outcome.

**Captain**:   
--That is to say, all that happened in terms of the Bragollach was that we   
never made it to the real front with any reinforcements, so Serech was   
irrelevant in that sense.

**Beren**:   
Oh . . . okay. So what did you do?

**Captain**:   
Headed various units under the the King's command.

**Beren**:   
Who was he? --The High King?

**Captain**:   
No, his uncle was quite happy to take part.

**Beren**:   
Er . . . I meant the current High King.

**Captain**:   
Oh. No, he took the most difficult part. They didn't actually refight the   
Duel, since it would have been a draw most likely, but the exercise ended   
when Fingolfin made it to the Gates. --What's wrong?

**Beren**:   
You mean -- he --

[breaks off, wide-eyed]

**Captain**:   
Of course. No one else has studied the War in such depth and in such a   
technical way, interviewing survivors -- and veterans -- of as many parts   
of the field as possible. Who better to play the Arranger of Battles?

[pause]

**Beren**: [suspiciously bland tone]   
Somehow I don't think that would have been seen as appropriate either.

**Captain**:   
I don't think it helped, no. The resentment over the Bragollach had mostly   
died down, though, before the Feanorians started things back up again.

**Beren**:   
Why? I mean, other than being House Feanor, what's the reason?

**Second Guard**:   
Isn't that reason enough?

**Steward**: [to the Captain]   
There would be considerably less hostilities did you refrain from provoking them.

**Captain**: [superior tone]   
I have never yet drawn first.

**Steward**:   
No, but you needn't respond every time.

**Captain**: [snorts indignantly]   
What, I should stand there and let them hack at me without defending myself?

**Steward**:   
I meant the verbal provocation that invariably results in them drawing upon you.

**Captain**:   
If they refuse to accept that they are totally outclassed and persist in   
challenging either with wits or weapons, I see no reason to spare them a   
lesson. Better they harry me than the King. For everyone -- I'm actually   
being kind to them, you see.

**Beren**:   
I'm guessing I really don't want to know the story, but -- why are they   
going after him? You'd think they'd be ashamed to.

**Captain**:   
Partly a simmering resentment over the fact that none of them are as   
good as he--

**Steward**:   
--the remainder, resentment over his being proven right on a matter of   
speculative discussion.

**Captain**:   
Namely, the debate over whether or not -- as House Feanor affects to hold,   
or did -- the words of the Ban were metaphorical, or literal, as our lord   
argued. The claim that we were never going to be allowed out of here and   
"long" was a euphemism for "never" -- which was used as the justification   
for much resentment and obduracy -- being quite thoroughly disproven by the   
amnesty granted Himself. For a while there it got completely out of hand, but   
after the last rout I think they've given it up, at least for a while. Sooner   
or later some idiot's going to --

**Beren**: [interrupting]   
Wait -- wait a second. You're telling me that he doesn't have to stay here?

[silence]

I don't understand.

**First Guard**: [wry grin]   
Long story.

**Steward**: [dry]   
Not that long.

**Beren**:   
But --

[shaking his head in frustration]

Explanation? --Please?

**Steward**:   
His Majesty has personal reasons for not accepting.

**Beren**: [flatly]   
--You.

**Captain**:   
No, actually, not at all. That was part of the haggling-over-terms that   
gave Lord Namo such headaches.

**Steward**:   
I would not call it "haggling" --

**Captain**:   
Really? Then what would you call it?

[the Steward gives him a cool Look]

Haggling, I say, as per the grounds for the offer being equally applicable   
to all of us.

**Steward**:   
Essentially, the argument went as follows: seeing that our lord was guiltless   
in the matter of the Kinslaying, and had departed Aman out of a sense of   
responsibility towards the rest of us, not for his own ambitions, and in   
consideration of his generosity and valor in Beleriand -- and it is possible,   
though these are mere deductions based on certain unguarded remarks, there   
was also a certain measure of pressure by parental forces -- there should be   
no real reason to continue to hold him here, and that mitigation of sentence   
was in order. To this King Finrod countered that we were no less free of guilt   
where Alqualonde was concerned, and that if he were to be released early on   
this count, and the deeds and sufferings that had transpired on the further   
shore, -- then we too should be granted the same. --Or he would not accept it.

[pause]

**Beren**:   
Sounds like haggling to me.

**Steward**: [as if he hadn't spoken]   
Pursuant to which there was considerable debate, amongst the Powers, and   
while we awaited the final decision, word came in reply to the King's   
messenger that Lady Amarie refused to accept his apology and forbade him   
to contact her again for a full Great Year.

**Captain**:   
At that point Himself says, "Never mind about me," just when he'd won his   
concessions -- the wording of it was a tremendous battle, since he wouldn't   
apologize for thoughts he never held nor for actions he considered justified,   
either -- and that miffed the Lord and Lady no end.

**Beren**: [frowning]   
Did they withdraw the offer?

**Steward**:   
Of course not.

**Beren**:   
But you're still here.

[silence]

**Steward**: [gravely]   
Would you have taken it?

**Captain**: [quickly]   
A yen isn't very long to us, Beren.

[comprehending, Beren looks away, intensely embarrassed]

**Beren**:   
I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that--

**Fourth Guard**: [comfortingly]   
It's all right, everyone thinks we're raving lunatics.

**Beren**:   
I can't believe I asked that--

**Captain**:   
Beren. We know you wouldn't have taken it under the circumstances. We know   
you don't think we'd leave him. Stop worrying over such an insignificant thing.

**Beren**:   
But--

**Captain**:   
Enough.

[Beren starts to protest some more, then gives in.]

**Beren**:   
So you could just walk out of here -- or however it works -- but you don't.   
That must really irritate everybody.

**Ranger**:   
We're taking bets on whether we're going to be the first in history to be   
evicted from the Halls.

**Beren**:   
Why?

**Ranger**:   
It would fit with the cyclical notion of history repeating itself, and the   
wish has been expressed loudly more than a few times that it was allowable.

**Youngest Ranger**: [correcting]   
I think he was trying to ask why they'd want to throw us out at all.

**Ranger**:   
Oh. Well, they were really, really put out with us introducing the concept   
of dueling in the first place. Battle reenactment is so far beyond that that   
the Lord and Lady were completely speechless when they found out.

**Steward**:   
I believe it is the failure to leave off that is the issue now, not the past.

**Fourth Guard**:   
Only it isn't our fault, Sir.

**Steward**: [dry]   
Another debatable point, that.

**Beren**:   
So what's going on? I don't really understand.

**Captain**:   
The resentment over our status keeps tending to spill over into outright   
aggression. Naturally we're not going to allow them to attack us -- or the   
King -- without a fight. And it goes on from there.

**Steward**:   
Complicated by the fact that His Majesty refuses to allow his behaviour to   
be curtailed by threat of offense.

**Beren**:   
So the rest of the Elves here are angry because you could go if you wanted,   
and they can't.

**Steward**:   
A small but active minority, almost exclusively composed of partisans of   
House Feanor.

**Beren**: [puzzled]   
Not everybody?

**Captain**: [quietly]   
Most people aren't ready. Not even the Feanorians --

**Steward**:   
--especially not the Feanorians--

**Captain**:   
--and they know it. But there's a lot of resentment left over from Beleriand   
as well.

[pause]

**Beren**:   
That seems all backwards.

**Captain**:   
It does, doesn't it?

**Beren**:   
So that's why they might attack him if they see him in the Halls?

**Captain**: [nodding]   
Now you have to remember that Finrod Felagund is also and as much a scion   
of the House of Finwe as any of the more egregious members of the family,   
and that means that on some level he enjoys competition -- especially against   
his relatives, and their representatives -- as much as anyone else. Possibly   
more. Most particularly when nothing critical is depending on the outcome.   
This means that he can't just lose gracefully and take the challenge out of   
it -- no, he's got to beat them in new and more spectacular ways each time,   
which in turn simply incites them to new levels of aggression. The last time   
they set upon him with an entire company of horse.

[pause]

**Beren**:   
What happened then?

**Captain**:   
Well, put it this way -- none of them are Maiar.

**Ranger**: [smugly]   
--And don't they realize that now!

**Captain**:   
Lady Vaire was quite put out with Himself for traumatizing them so badly,   
but Lady Nia pointed out that they had made tremendous strides in terms of   
progress towards humility and self-knowledge, so that harangue didn't last   
long. It did cause the imposition of an absolute crackdown on him rearranging   
the structures of the place, but there are ways around that.

**Beren**:   
But what happened?

**Captain**: [shrugging]   
They cheat, he uses corresponding power. Thirty-to-one and cavalry to boot   
most definitely being cheating, he forwent restraint and used some of the   
Dagor Bragollach illusions on them -- only they weren't all illusions: some   
of the rifts and ridges were quite real -- as the horses weren't he had no   
compunction whatsoever about employing the technique and even though the   
napalm was illusory, when you've just been thrown into a twelve-foot crater   
you didn't believe was there, you're not inclined to test the actuality of   
such things.

**Third Guard**: [gleeful]   
The most insulting part was when he showed up to meet his uncle without   
the slightest mention of having been waylaid, and no sign of it at all --   
they never even got near him -- and the upper-level House Feanor folk who   
were waiting to see him set down didn't know what to do -- they couldn't   
exactly ask, "Oh, did our warriors miss you in the Halls somehow?"

**Beren**: [faintly]   
I see.

[pause]

So he's here because he doesn't have to deal with Amarie not forgiving him   
in here, and you're here because he's here, and nobody actually wants you   
in here, and the other Noldor aren't sure whether to hate you because you   
can leave, or because you don't. Even though they don't really want to   
leave, either.

[pause]

I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

**Soldier**: [cheerfully]   
Some people think trying to hit us is the appropriate response.

**Beren**: [shaking his head]   
If I was alive I would say this needs a drink to make any sense out of.

**Captain**:   
If you think that would help--

[He takes the flask from his belt and starts to offer it to Beren, but pauses   
to unstopper it first before handing it to him]

**Beren**: [staring at the canteen in his hand]   
What's this?

**Captain**:   
Er -- a drink . . .?

**Beren**:   
But what is it?

**Captain**: [shrugs]   
A passable recollection of miruvor.

**Beren**:   
But you just gave it to me.

**Captain**: [bewildered]   
I thought you wanted a drink. Sorry if I misunderstood

**Beren**: [agitated]   
But how can it be real? If it's your memory, not mine, then how come it   
didn't disappear when you handed it to me?

**Captain**: [frowning]   
Because I don't want it to?

**Beren**:   
How do we know it's the same for me as it is for you?

**Captain**:   
We don't -- but . . . we don't know that when we're corporate either, do we?   
I could have experienced the taste of it differently then.

[Beren shakes his head, baffled]

**Beren**: [increasingly manic]   
Is it an illusion? But what does illusion mean here? If we don't have have   
any bodies, then isn't everything an illusion? Is that how it works?

[pause]

**Captain**:   
Do you remember the last night we dared risk lighting a fire, and you "made   
the mistake" -- I think that was what you said -- of asking --What color was?   
and if color was in things, how could it be changed by light? And after when   
he'd finished the preliminary explanation, you said something like, "If it was   
really that complicated nobody would be able to see" --?

[frowning]

--Did I ever apologize for laughing? I didn't mean to make you feel foolish.

[Beren nods]

Well, it's rather like that. I could try to explain it, but I'm not sure it   
wouldn't just make it worse.

**Beren**. [dissatisfied]   
Huh.

**Captain**:   
Edrahil, do you want to take a shot at explaining the notion of the "persistence   
of ideas" --?

**Steward**: [sighing]   
Not particularly.

**Beren**: [getting stressed out again]   
Why can I even see you? Or anything? Or feel things?

**Captain**: [forceful tone]   
Beren, it's all right. You needn't if it troubles you.

[collects the canteen back from him]

**Beren**: [louder]   
No. I shouldn't be able to. I'm not real, I don't have a body, so things   
shouldn't seem real to me either.

[gripping his wrist with his remaining hand, pulling at his sleeve]

--What am I? What is this? How can I sense myself when I don't exist?

**Ranger**: [reasonable]   
But your body isn't what senses things. Not without you at home to perceive   
them. So why shouldn't you be aware, regardless?

[Beren is seriously thrown by this and hunches over with his head almost to his   
knees, on the verge of an anxiety attack]

**Youngest Ranger**: [to the Steward]   
It would have been better if you'd tried, Sir.

[Huan crowds in and starts nudging Beren with his muzzle, until the latter   
straightens up, so that he can rest his head on Beren's knees.]

**Huan**:   
[whines]

**Captain**: [quietly]   
He wants you to scratch his nose. --Huan thinks you're real. And you're   
not going to deny him existence, are you?

[Beren shakes his head, not looking up. The Captain puts a hand on his shoulder.]

You were going to tell us what happened, and why you're here.

**Beren**: [muttering]   
It really is a long story.

**First Guard**:   
And we've got plenty of time.

[Beren makes a mostly unintelligible reply in which the word "stupid" is about   
all that can be heard]

**Captain**:   
Beren? Beren, look at me. You don't have to understand being a ghost any more   
than one's got to understand being alive. I don't know much about mortal   
ghosts -- you're the only one of us to ever have met one, before now -- but   
if my own experience is anything to judge by, you remember yourself and the   
way you experienced Middle-earth in your lifetime too clearly to let that go.   
Does that make sense at all?

[Beren half-nods, half-shrugs]

There are people who choose to drift around here in an oblivious haze,   
completely caught up in their own pasts -- and then there are those, no   
less self-obsessed, who most definitely and definedly interact with every-   
one else, much to everyone else's regret. Some haven't recovered from the   
distress of being killed, and can't or won't pull themselves together,   
and there's nothing that anyone can do for them until they decide they   
want to communicate with the rest of society and make the effort. There   
are people who simply refuse to be seen. We find it unspeakably tedious,   
and there's no one here we've killed whom we're trying to avoid. Do you   
have reasons to interact with the world at large? Are you stubborn enough   
to try? Both rhetorical questions, of course.

[leans a bit closer]

And you certainly needn't feel ashamed of showing fear in this company, or   
looking a fool, or coming undone.

[pause]

**Beren**: [low voice]   
When I first got here I couldn't remember much of anything. I couldn't see.   
I didn't even remember my name until Huan found me. All I knew was I had to   
stay until she came.

**Captain**: [gently]   
Beren, you're not supposed to be dead. Of course you'll--

**Beren**: [interrupting]   
I'm mortal, of course I'm supposed to die--

**Huan**:   
[sad whine]

**Captain**:   
Well, Himself has been having certain complicated discussions with the Powers   
that are in charge here, most particularly with Lady Nia, about that very matter.

[the rest of the Ten look troubled, and Beren gives him a blank expression, and   
he drops the subject]

Regardless, you're not meant to be violently evicted. If you hadn't been killed,   
if you'd somehow survived -- I'm making an assumption here, that it wasn't   
peaceful or natural, but am I wrong?

[Beren shakes his head]

--then you'd still be unconscious, weakened and confused for a prolonged   
amount of time. I've seen Men wounded throughout the course of the Leaguer,   
and aside from the prolonged part, it never seemed much different from   
ourselves, the wandering in bad dreams and disorientation and various   
lingering effects after a severe injury. Am I not right? That your mind   
also feels the impact of a deep wound?

[Beren looks away, with a shudder, and after a second gives a very quick nod]

**Beren**: [muttering]   
Everything from the time they found me and rescued me to the time when I got   
shot is pretty hazy.

[pause]

**Captain**: [blinking]   
That isn't a long story at all.

**Warrior**:   
Who shot you?

**Beren**:   
Curufin. No, I meant, that part wasn't very interesting. I kept waiting for it   
to end and me to wake up, because it didn't seem like it could be real. --That   
happened when the sons of Feanor caught up with us.

**Guard**:   
I thought they were going to Himring?

**Soldier**: [confused]   
But wait, they were in Nargothrond. Did you go back, then?

**Captain**:   
You remember about that. What's-her-name told us, about how the Prince threw   
them out so hard they bounced--

**Second Guard**:   
--a little late, but better late than never--

**Captain**:   
--and didn't let them get lynched in the backlash.

**Youngest Ranger**:   
What is her name, anyway?

**Steward**:   
No one knows. She still refuses to say, and her friends respect that decision.   
She was born in Formenos, and none of us knew her in the old days.

**Youngest Ranger**:   
But it doesn't matter any more!

**Steward**:   
To her it still matters very much.

**Captain**:   
-- Though maybe he should have if they started going after Beren for revenge.   
Is that what happened?

**Beren**:   
Kind of. They tried to kidnap Tinuviel again.

**The Ten**: [outraged, nearly simultaneously:]   
What?!?

**Beren**: [correcting himself]   
It was more a target of opportunity thing, they weren't looking for us, I don't   
think. We were right about halfway across Dimbar when they caught up with us.

**Captain**:   
Couldn't you have hidden? There's a fair amount of cover through there.

**Beren**: [embarrassed]   
We were -- I was kind of distracted. The bastards almost ran us down and Curufin   
pulls over and yanks her up before we could get out of their way and flings her   
across his saddlebow like he's going to ride off with her. I -- I jumped on him   
and tried to pull him off the horse, and instead I ended up bringing all four   
of us crashing down, and Tinuviel got thrown clear of the horse, and Curufin   
was kind of stunned too, and I tried to rip his head off until she came round   
and whistled me off him. It's a wonder neither one of us got gutted or lost a   
leg from the Ancrist. --Apparently Celegorm was about to run me through as well,   
but Huan got in between us and held him at bay. I didn't even notice that.

[sighs]

That was not one of my more rational moments, all right. Huan probably wouldn't   
have let them take Tinuviel, or get very far, but I didn't even think of that.   
I just wanted to kill the spawn-of-Morgoth with my bare hands.

[silence]

I know. She told me I was acting like an Orc too, by implication.

[the Ten look at each other]

**Warrior**:   
We were just thinking it was a shame she made you stop. At least I was.

[nods all around]

**Soldier**: [awed]   
You brought down a cavalry charger and defeated the Feanorion, unarmed?

**Beren**: [shrugs]   
Tulkas said he helped. Or something. It certainly didn't feel like   
something I was doing by myself.

[pause]

I was really angry. It -- it kind of all came together when he laughed.   
It was the same as at the Council after they won. If there had been a rock   
handy I could have pounded his face off with it, but choking him until his   
tongue was hanging out was almost as good.

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Couldn't you have cut his throat with his own knife?

**Beren**:   
I didn't even think about weapons. It wouldn't have been half as satisfying,   
anyway. I wanted him to suffer, and then some. And to know it was me that   
was killing him.

**Fourth Guard**:   
I'm surprised she made you break off.

**Beren**: [sighing]   
She said we were doing Morgoth's work for him by fighting. And even retroactive   
Kinslaying is still Kinslaying. --I just sometimes wish I had been too caught   
up in the moment to hear her until I'd finished crushing his windpipe.   
Especially after I got shot.

**Warrior**:   
But that wasn't what killed you?

**Beren**:   
No, that was a long time after. Er -- you know what I mean. I took that   
bastard's stuff -- I figured he owed me replacements, since it was their   
fault I lost my gear -- which didn't actually do me any any good at the time,   
because I wasn't going to kill them and there wasn't any way it was feasible   
to put on his mail safely there -- and I also figured he should pay something   
to her, so I took his horse, too, and we were leading it away towards the   
forest, when--

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Just a second, Beren -- have I got this right? --You confiscated Curufin's arms   
and armour, and his horse?

**Beren**: [grimly]   
Yeah. And his saddlebags. I left him the clothes on his back, but that was all.

**Youngest Ranger**:   
But he shot you?

**Beren**: [shrugs]   
I'm afraid I wasn't exactly careful of his hair or his face yanking off his   
hauberk and padding, either. I kind of accidentally stepped on him a couple   
times, too. Which was satisfying in the short term but probably contributed   
to things.

**Youngest Ranger**:   
No, I meant, with what?

**Beren**:   
Oh. He doubled up with Celegorm -- they were still heading through Dungortheb,   
I guess to their brothers' place out East, though I thought it was crazy, doing   
that with no armour instead of the long way around.

[he pauses and looks pensive]

**Captain**:   
You all right?

**Beren**:   
What? --Yeah. Yeah, I was just thinking if it would have been possible without   
armour for me. Answer's no. But then I didn't have someone else for a bodyguard,   
or a horse. And they weren't going through the mountains, just down the Old Road.

**Captain**:   
You were going to explain how you happened to get shot.

**Beren**:   
Right. So anyway, before they ride on, Celegorm puts a curse on us, tells us it   
would be better to starve to death in the wilds than make them angry, and wherever   
we go it wouldn't do us any good, because I'd never succeed in holding onto   
anything I managed to get -- either the Silmaril or Tinuviel. Which didn't   
take long to come true.

[pause]

But you wanted to know about him shooting me. His brother. --Me, not his brother.

[he looks tired and frustrated with himself]

**First Guard**:   
--We know what you mean.

[Beren nods in thanks]

**Beren**:   
All right, so we're walking away towards the forest, and Huan's coming with   
us -- he was following along, kind of reassuring the horse on the other side,   
and Curufin grabs his brother's bow and pulls on us, and I guess Huan must   
have heard that or something, 'cause he spins around and jumps in between   
and bites the arrow out of the air the way you can grab a javelin if you're   
in the right place, but the bastard's got another one nocked and ready to   
loose and he does that before Huan could charge them, and -- he was aiming   
both times at Tinuviel. --Not at me.

[baring teeth]

Only he was, and he knew it. So I stepped in front of her, and that's how   
I got shot.

[silence]

I figured if the Curse was going to come true, it wouldn't be the way he thought.

**Steward**:   
Where were you struck?

[Beren gestures towards his upper left chest, just under his collarbone]

**Captain**:   
Stand up.

[He gets up with Beren and marks the level of Beren's wound on himself with his   
hand -- about the middle of his sternum. He looks very grim, and sounds more so.]

We're almost the same height. --That wasn't an accident or a scare-shot.

[the Ten exchange looks of increasing anger and comprehension. Furious:]

He was shooting to kill her.

**Beren**:   
Yeah, well, he didn't -- that was left for me.

**Captain**: [taking him by the shoulders]   
Beren. Whatever possible mischance or mischances might have ambushed you out   
of the Void -- I will never believe that you did anything -- even by accident   
-- to harm Luthien. Call me a naive fool, if you like, but I don't believe it.

[pause]

**Beren**:   
It was my fault she died.

**Warrior**:   
How?

**Beren**:   
I made a dumb mistake -- a lot of dumb mistakes -- and got killed, and . . .   
and she faded.

**Steward**:   
Faded? The Princess chose to follow you?

**Beren**: [shaking his head]   
That's not -- you can't-- you're making it sound like she was responsible.

**Captain**:   
Most of us in the King's following have known the Court of Doriath since   
before your people were born. I don't think there's one soul here who's met   
her who'd doubt that the child of Melian and Elu Thingol should prove as   
resolute in love as those two -- any more than we who know you believe that   
you'd ever hurt her. Sit down and stop blaming yourself for things you didn't do.

**Beren**:   
But--

[the Captain pushes Beren down gently, while the Youngest Ranger and the Fourth   
Guard pull him down from either side, and sits down himself]

**Captain**:   
So what happened after you got shot?

**Beren**:   
I don't remember.

[at their Looks]

No, I mean, I passed out, I only know what Tinuviel told me. Afterwards.   
Huan went after them and then they took care of me, and that made me realize   
that it was never going to work, there was no way I could go on pretending   
it could, and I had to convince them.

**Warrior**:   
Er . . . what?

**Beren**:   
That she couldn't stay with me, we couldn't just pretend that everything was   
fine like it used to be and the world didn't matter to us -- we had to resolve   
this and she needed to go back to Doriath where it was safe. --Or it was, then.

**Warrior**:   
No, I -- I meant, earlier -- I was a little confused by all the "theys".

**Steward**:   
I believe that the first reference was to the Lords Celegorm and Curufin,   
the second and third to the Lord of Dogs and the Lady Luthien. --Is that correct?

**Beren**: [nodding]   
--Someone else should really be telling this.

**Captain**:   
No, you're doing fine -- we just want more details. --Did I really hear you   
say that Huan here actually attacked that pair of traitors?

[Huan makes an unhappy grumbling noise]

**Steward**:   
I'm not entirely sure that -- technically -- the Feanorions' actions should   
be considered treason, seeing that--

**Captain**: [cutting him off]   
--They had guest-right and they dishonored that along with kin-right. That   
makes them traitors not just once, but twice over, even if they never did swear   
fealty. Now be quiet, Edrahil, I'm not going to argue semantics, we want to hear   
what happened to Beren.

**Beren**: [embarrassed]   
Sirs, please--

**Steward**: [smiling a little, for the first time]   
It's all right. Please continue.

**Beren**: [sighing]   
So anyway, yeah, Huan went for them, and she said he was really scary,   
she'd never imagined he could look like that, he was even angrier than he   
had been fighting Sauron, and if I hadn't been hurt and he hadn't broken   
off the chase to come back and help me she doesn't know what he would have   
done to them. So then she pulled it out -- the arrow -- and cleaned it out,   
and he found her some kind of plant to use for a pain-killer--

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Which one?

**Beren**:   
Didn't recognize it. I don't know the lowland vegetation as well as the   
northern types. Worked, though -- even the scar didn't hurt. --She sang it   
shut. It should have taken weeks to knit, and maybe never properly, and it   
healed overnight.

**Captain**:   
What class was the point?

**Beren**:   
All-purpose military-hunting, long barbs to keep it in--

[makes a demonstrating V with his left hand]

--and sharpened on the outside. --Not birdshot. The sort of thing you don't   
dare try to take out if you don't know what you're doing and have irons ready   
in case something big's been cut. --And then she built a shelter out of   
branches to keep the wind and rain out and a fire and kept me from getting   
dehydrated and getting trapped by the power of the Dark while I was unconscious.

**Steward**:   
You sound surprised.

[pause]

**Beren**:   
It -- just -- is not what I thought of when I thought of Elven princesses, um,   
chopping up branches and dragging piles of wood around and so forth.

**Captain**: [innocent]   
And you've met exactly how many?

**Beren**:   
Er -- two . . .

**Captain**:   
Finduilas is hardly a statistical sampling, you know. You never met His   
Majesty's sister, or his cousin, or--

[checks]

Ah.

**Steward**:   
--Indeed.

**Captain**: [urgent]   
Beren, if you happen to encounter the High King's daughter, don't bring   
up the sons of Feanor to her. She doesn't like hearing that they're bloody   
maniacs and insists it's all a misunderstanding, and she tends to the   
preemptive strike, even if she does apologize after.

**Beren**: [blinking]   
Uh, okay.

**Captain**:   
But anyhow, you know that a majority of our medical people are female -- and   
you know what Healers do -- so what are you so amazed about?

**Beren**: [sheepish]   
Tinuviel just always seemed so -- so much too nice, to be completely unfazed   
by blood up to her elbows and deranged relatives trying to kidnap her and   
getting knocked off a horse and knocked out and me being hurt and having to   
do everything by herself -- with Huan, yeah, but there wasn't a whole lot of   
help he could give her past that point, except give moral support and keep   
Curufin's horse from running off.

**Warrior**: [very interested]   
Which one was he? Stormwing or Watersong? Those were their best steeds -- I'm   
sure they would have taken them.

**Beren**: [shrugs]   
I dunno -- what did they look like?

**Warrior**:   
The dappled-grey one or . . . er, the other dappled-grey one . . .

[trails off]

**Beren**: [straightfaced]   
The big grey one with spots.

[they grin]

He never said what his name was -- I just called him "Roch" and he didn't seem   
to mind.

[quiet laughter all around]

I'm pretty sure he called me "that maniac who knocks horses over" -- it was a   
long time before he stopped looking at me with his eyes all white around the   
edges trying to see what I was doing wherever I was, even after Huan took him   
aside and explained it was an accident.

[shaking his head]

--I didn't know you could do that. I guess it's like pulling your mount   
over on yourself, but -- he wasn't a pony, by a long shot--! It was kind of   
funny the way he used to try to keep Huan in between us when we were walking   
at first, and if Huan was off scouting or hunting -- he'd try to hide behind   
her, like I couldn't see him if his head was out of sight.

[smiling]

It was kind of cute -- at first Tinuviel didn't realize what he was doing,   
and then when she did she'd walk a little faster or a little slower so that   
he'd have to hurry to keep up, or then stop to stay hidden, or then she'd   
hop up and talk to us from his back. I've never seen an animal try to look   
three directions at once. He was a nice horse, though. I thought it would   
be a lot harder to ride him -- oh, I'll have to tell him he was right, I   
could have done it for his plan. King Finrod, I mean.

[sighs, with a nostalgic smile]

Those were good days.

[checks -- his smile fades]

Well -- by comparison. While they -- lasted. I--

[he looks down, biting his lip, and rocking a little; the Guard beside him puts   
an arm around his shoulders and gives him a little shake]

**Fourth Guard**: [consolingly]   
--It's all right -- you don't think we'd grudge you any happiness, do you?

**Steward**:   
"While they lasted" -- yet obviously they did not last long. What happened   
to bring them to an end??

**Beren**:   
I -- uh -- I had to go get a Silmaril.

**Several of the Ten**: [simultaneously]   
--Why??

**Beren**:   
I had to.

**Captain**:   
But that doesn't make any sense at all, lad. You were supposed to get the   
stone to win the Lady's hand -- but the Princess came to find you, so the   
question of needing it to break her free from Doriath was moot. Why didn't   
you just -- what's that mortal word? --elope--?

**Beren**:   
That wouldn't have been honorable. --I made a vow. I promised to fulfill   
the task.

**Fourth Guard**:   
But you know it wasn't a fair task.

**Beren**: [frustrated]   
But I promised.

[pause]

And Tinuviel was going to get killed staying with me, or worse. We just   
smacked the Enemy's top commander upside the head, so to speak, and this   
was the same guy who spent four bleeding years trying to hunt me down. I   
could imagine what he would try to do to us now.

**Captain**:   
But could he? I mean, without any base to work from, with his elite corps   
ripped to shreds, how much can he do now? That night essentially put him   
in the same spot you were in those last years in Dorthonion. I would be very   
surprised if he weren't replaced by someone with no failure record and   
consequently no real experience of the War.

[Beren shrugs uncomfortably]

**Beren**:   
That doesn't do anything about local Orc-bands and the rest of the minions   
that escaped from the Tower, in fact it could be worse because they didn't   
have anyone to tell them where to be now. And the sons of Feanor still being   
out there. And even with Huan we couldn't hardly protect her from her two   
psychotic kinsmen. --I kept trying to tell her this. And she kept saying we   
could just sneak into her parents' back woods and hide out along the edges   
the way I did before, and we'd be fine.

[growing frustrated just remembering it]

And I kept trying to explain that this wasn't going to work, no way in hell   
was it going to work, and she needed to be someplace where there were defenses,   
strong defenses, and that meant Doriath, because there was also no way in hell   
we could go back to Nargothrond -- because I knew what happened to isolated   
farmsteads and people who tried to hold out on their own in the open. And   
she'd just keep on saying we'd be fine.

[the Ten exchange troubled glances, considering the problem]

**Beren**:   
--And that there was no way in hell she was ever going to go back to Menegroth   
unless I came with her. And that wasn't going to happen without a Silmaril.   
Though I thought it was optimistic to think that even doing that would   
guarantee safe-conduct. So I got up really early one morning when she was   
still asleep and I told Huan to stay with her and keep her safe, and then I   
rode back again west and north to Ard-galen.

**Captain**:   
Without saying good-bye!?

**Beren**:   
I couldn't have done it otherwise. And . . . I wasn't strong enough for the   
argument -- I would have ended up giving in again that day.

[The Captain glances over at the Steward, who does not look at him]

**Steward**:   
Did you truly believe it possible that you might accomplish it, on your own?

**Beren**: [shaking his head]   
No. But I couldn't not try. I just couldn't let her get killed or -- or   
caught, and have it be my fault. Not if I could do something to stop it.   
I thought she'd be reasonable enough to go home once it was obvious I was   
really gone this time.

**Warrior**:   
What happened to "Horse"?

**Beren**:   
I turned him loose after we got to the Plains -- I told him he didn't have to   
go back to Curufin if he didn't want to, I didn't want him getting stressed   
about it, and going through what Huan went through, plus the spiders and the   
fell things on the way there, and he was glad enough to see the last of me --   
though I think he did finally trust me a little by then. Last I saw him he   
was heading south towards the river as fast as he could gallop.

**Warrior**: [astounded]   
You convinced an Eldar war-steed to return to the site of the Battle?

[pause -- stifled:]

I would say -- yes, he trusted you -- but not a little.

[pause]

**Captain**: [encouraging]   
Keep going.

**Beren**:   
So, I was going to try to make it in -- I figured it couldn't be much worse   
than Dungortheb, there had to still be springs and stuff, even if nothing   
grew there any more, and so long as it wasn't too contaminated I could still   
drink it, because it couldn't take anywhere near as long as the mountains to   
get over, since it was flat. But not completely flat, so probably there would   
be enough cover I could evade any patrols up to the walls, and then maybe   
find a route up like we had planned initially for the mission, sneak in   
through some access way or something. And then get killed. --Or more likely   
caught, again.

[silence; the Ten exchange significant glances]

**Captain**: [bemused]   
I've never known anyone who could combine the most outrageous self-confidence   
and absolute pessimism quite the way you do.

**Beren**:   
Well, it didn't happen that way, because it turns out Huan's one of those   
dogs who puts the most creative interpretations on "stay" --

[scratches Huan's ears -- in the "doting dog-owner" voice:]

--isn't that right, boy? That's what you did--

[Huan snuffles against his face]

--and so he decided that "stay with Tinuviel" could be stretched to mean   
"bring Tinuviel with me wherever I go" and they showed up before I actually   
got anywhere and yelled at me for being an idiot. It was really awful -- I   
saw them from a distance and thought "I don't believe it, I'm almost exactly   
where we were caught before, this is some kind of twisted game the Enemy's   
playing, letting me get two leagues farther along" -- and then Huan left   
because it would be more of a risk for us to be seen with him than he could   
be helpful defending us, and to go round up some reinforcements, even though   
he didn't say anything about that then and we didn't know about that till later.

[there are some confused looks exchanged at this, but no one interrupts]

And then we crossed the desert -- that part seemed really hard at the time,   
but by comparison to the rest of it it was actually pretty easy -- but the   
sun was really rough on Tinuviel, and I kept cursing myself for dragging her   
into it, but I couldn't stop -- and then we got to the road -- this causeway   
thing they've built out of slag and rubble and stuff, it goes a long way out   
into the Plains, and there was shade next to that. We hid down there from a   
troop of Enemy soldiers being sent out West -- I think they must have been   
going to the siege of the High King's fortress -- and after they were past   
we tried to get through the Gates, but this Wolf -- Thing -- there, the size   
of a, a, -- no, bigger -- than the biggest wild oxen you've ever seen. You   
know how much bigger Huan is than most werewolves? She said that's how much   
bigger than Huan Sauron was. When he was a wolf. --Well, that's how much   
bigger than Sauron this one, that was lying there in front of the Gates, was.

[there are some hasty calculations made and more looks exchanged]

**Captain**:   
You're talking about something three-to-four times the size of an ordinary   
warg there.

**Beren**:   
Yeah. He gets up and gets in the way -- I mean, even more in the way, 'cause   
he already was in the way -- gets in my face, and starts sniffing suspiciously   
at her in spite of her cloaks and all I could think was, Tinuviel was gonna   
die, and--

**One of the Ten:** [cutting over, from the background]   
"--and it would all be your fault--"

[Beren stops, turns, and glares at the Captain]

**Captain**: [raising his hands]   
Wasn't me. --Someone beat me to it.

[Beren closes his eyes and makes an exasperated noise]

**Second Guard**:   
--Sorry, Beren.

**Beren**:   
Now I forgot where I was.

**Captain**:   
You were explaining about the Wolf at the door, and how it was all your fault.

**Beren**: [gives up, laughing]   
--All right, all right. So he's there, and I'm thinking, "We're dead, I   
have to fight this guy, and there's no way I can take him--" and she just   
steps out from behind me and says "Down!" and wham!--

[gesturing wildly]

--there's this flash like when lightning hits a tree right by you but without   
any noise and he just drops on the ground like a felled ox and that's it. And   
we just went sneaking past him into Angband, like a couple of rats going by   
a sleeping cat.

**First Guard**: [awed]   
She killed it?

**Beren**: [sighing]   
No, it would have been better if we could have, because then he wouldn't have   
got into Doriath, but Huan said it was fated so I'm not sure anyone else even   
could. He was just sound asleep. Anyway, we thought maybe we could duck in and   
hide and check out the place before doing anything else, but -- He -- spotted   
Tinuviel right away and threatened to blast her down right there, if she didn't   
explain what she was doing there -- and she did this amazing act where she   
told him the exact truth -- only not all of it -- and sounding like she was   
completely helpless and terrified, and he thought he was in control and playing   
her like a fish on a line, only it was completely the other way round. I had   
to go against all my instincts to rush out and defend her and just trust her   
to know what she was doing, like with Carcaroth.

**Steward**:   
You weren't noticed?

**Beren**:   
I was flat on the floor under his chair in the dark. Everyone was watching   
Tinuviel.

**Captain**:   
You were under Morgoth's throne?!

**Beren**: [shrugs]   
I know, it sounds really lame -- but storming out waving a sword into the   
middle of a hall full of Balrogs and assorted minions didn't seem like it   
was going to work all that well.

**Soldier**: [to the Second Guard beside him]   
Somehow I just had an image of Feanor when he said that.

**Beren**:   
Yeah, well, you know -- lurking around in the shadows and dashing out   
when they're drunk and careless is more my style.

**Second Guard**:   
I'm having a hard time imagining this at all.

**Third Guard**:   
It would help if any of us had actually seen the inside of Angband ever,   
or if Beren had bothered to describe the scenery.

[the next several exchanges all overlap as people talk over each other and   
answer different questions]

**Beren**:   
Ah, it was really ugly--

**Warrior**:   
I'm still trying to imagine a wolf the size of an aurochs or larger.

**Beren**:   
--it looked kind of burnt, kind of like the Nightshade, only worse than   
the edges you guys saw, and--

**Steward**: [dryly]   
How peculiar --I'm trying very hard not to.

**Beren**:   
--there were designs on them that I don't want to remember. And Balrogs.   
Multiple Balrogs.

[pause]

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Did you run into Glaurung?

**Beren**: [deadpan]   
You know, I was wondering what was lacking to make the experience complete,   
and guess what, that was it. Somehow there was a disaster that we actually missed.

**Captain**: [also straightfaced]   
Shocking inefficiency. I wonder how that happened.

**Ranger**:   
Beren, I know you're superb at that "lurking around" business, but I'm still   
finding it somewhat hard to believe that you were able to wander freely   
inside Thangorodrim without being spotted. Not to mention Her Highness.

**Beren**:   
Oh. We -- we were disguised as minions.

[he sighs]

**Ranger**:   
I see. That makes sense.

**Captain**: [noticing Beren's downcast look]   
What's wrong?

**Beren**:   
Oh . . . I was just thinking.

[he checks briefly, and goes on more brightly:]

--You know if I'd been able to do that myself back in Dorthonion,   
I could have--

**Captain**:   
--Lad, if you'd been able to turn yourself into an Orc during your War,   
you'd have gotten yourself into so much trouble you wouldn't have lived   
long enough to get yourself into more trouble. --You know I'm right.

[Beren ducks his head, smiling a little]

Now you can't stop now -- you've just gotten to the most exciting part. So far.

[he reaches over and shakes Beren's shoulder, trying to get him to look up. Earnestly:]

You know we -- none of us -- wanted you here. But it's too hard for us not to be   
pleased now that you have turned up. Stop fretting. Trust the King. --Trust your   
Lady. They'll work things out for the best.

[Beren sighs and nods]

**Beren**:   
Okay, where was I?

**Soldier**:   
Under Morgoth's seat, you said.

**Beren**:   
Yeah -- when I made that vow that I'd avenge Da if it took me to the Gates   
of Angband to challenge the Dark Lord himself -- that was not the scenario   
I had in mind. So I'm hiding there, and looking out between his heels, trying   
not to make any noise, and I knew he was a giant, I remembered about him   
smashing big pits in the ground when he killed the High King -- we even   
passed them on the way in, they're still there -- but I wasn't ready for   
how much larger than us. Or having to lie there and watching his minions   
eating corpses. I still have nightmares about that place.

**Steward**:   
You said he recognized Lady Luthien?

**Beren**: [nodding]   
She came down in front of the hall when he told her to, and tried to keep   
bluffing that she was a courier from Sauron, but he goes, "What are you   
talking about? We just had the reports from Taur-na-fuin. You're not one   
of our people!" and--

**Ranger**: [surprised]   
That's almost exactly what happened to us--

**Beren**: [bitter]   
Yeah, I know -- again. So she admits it, and he starts laughing and wants to   
know what her dad's thinking to send her on a mission, if Thingol had lost   
it finally. And she explains how he doesn't know she's there, that he tried   
to keep her too hemmed in and she ran away, and all roads eventually lead to   
Angband because that's where the power in Middle-earth is and she realizes   
that now, and she's willing to serve him as an entertainer because she needs   
to and has no place left to go, and he starts making all kinds of crude remarks   
about needs and serving and I'm trying to keep my cool and not wreck it this   
time by losing my temper--

**Captain**:   
No, you can't have all that blame. None of us were expecting to hear her name   
under those circumstances, and all of us reacted. Himself most of all.

[Beren does not look entirely reassured but goes on:]

**Beren**:   
And anyway what could I have done? Maybe hamstrung him? That didn't slow him   
down much the last time, and it didn't seem like it would help her any. So   
I trusted her.

**Captain**:   
Best thing you could have done.

**Beren**: [frankly]   
It was hard. When he reached out to grab her, saying something like, "This   
will make me feel better about the gods enjoying our misery," it was all   
I could do not to lunge for his ankle. And Tinuviel says, "Nope! You listen   
to me now!" and melts right out of his hands like he was trying to catch   
hold of a shadow, and she flings open her capes and starts to dance, like   
swallows over the water, that quick, or like real bats when you see them   
out in the door-yard flying after bugs at twilight, to her own music, and   
it was like Esgalduin pouring in to drown us all with sleep.

**Soldier**:   
--You too?

**Beren**:   
Of course. Not like I could resist it, if a god couldn't.

**Soldier**:   
She couldn't -- be selective?

[Beren shakes his head]

**Beren**:   
You don't understand, this was the real thing -- this was like a flood when   
the ice melts up in the mountains, it's coming down and everything in its way   
is going down. But it wasn't a weapon -- not like knocking someone over the   
head to put them out -- she gave -- us -- what we needed -- what we really   
wanted: absolute peace. Complete rest from pain, and having to think, and   
regrets, and hating each other, and that's why there was no way anything   
there could hold out against it. Not even Morgoth. Though she said it took   
longest to take him down, but in the end he slumps down like an avalanche   
and the Iron Crown goes rolling across the floor --

[making a sweeping gesture with his hand]

--and not even that woke anyone up. She said it sounded not like metal clanging   
but like when thunder hits all the sudden, it was that big and heavy. So then   
she wakes me up and I crawl out from under trying not to step on any of the   
other minions or the snakes -- hey, why are there adders in Angband? Just loose   
on the floor -- his people just stepped over them, or on them, or kicked them   
out of the way. And it was cold, so they should have been hibernating but   
these were awake, until they weren't any more.

**Steward**: [thinks for a second]   
Worm prototypes.

**Beren**:   
? ? ?

**Steward**:   
--Experimental Dragons. Did they appear to be fashioned out of metal?

**Beren**:   
Oh. I -- I'm not really sure, it was hard to see -- but they did make a   
lot more noise than adders usually do when they moved. Like someone filing   
something. So maybe. And I got up, and . . . there they were.

[he stops, staring into the distance, until the Captain clears his throat]

I . . . it was like a sunset, and the northern lights, and sunrise, and when   
you look up through water and see daylight, all together . . .

**Steward**:   
--Yes.

**Beren**:   
But it was like sunlight through Autumn leaves in the wind, too, and   
the Stars . . .

[pulling himself together]

And then we tried to get the jewel off the Crown -- it was way too big   
and heavy to take the whole thing, like trying to carry a cartwheel made   
out of metal -- and I'm trying to pop it out of the setting with my bare   
hands, and it isn't working, and Tinuviel's hovering like she's about to   
take off again, trying to get me to hurry, and I'm getting more and more   
frustrated, and then after all -- stupid! --that I remembered about the   
Angrist, and I got that and sawed off the prongs that were holding it on,   
and . . . light. I thought it would feel cold, like a polished stone, but   
it felt like sunlight in my hand. It shone right through -- like a candle   
through cloth -- but it wasn't hot. It didn't even occur to me that I should   
be afraid -- like picking up bees. I knew they weren't afraid of me, or   
angry, they wouldn't do anything to me . . .

[he is rapt at the memory again]

**Soldier**: [quietly]   
That's right. I'd forgotten all about that -- how dangerous they were. You   
shouldn't have been able to even touch them.

**Steward**: [aside]   
Ah. My conjecture was mistaken.

**Beren**:   
Sir?

**Steward**:   
I had assumed that was the cause of your maiming.

**Beren**:   
No, that -- that was a little later.

[pause -- he continues under the gentle pressure of encouraging looks]

So then I thought if the first one came off that easy, and we weren't going   
to try this again, I shouldn't waste the chance because who was ever going   
to get another like that? and I went to hack out the second one, and the   
knife -- you remember how Curufin used to brag how it could cut through   
anything? Well, he was wrong.

[grimaces]

It stuck and popped apart when I tried sawing the next setting, and the   
piece of it went flying up like that -- bing --

[gestures]

--just like an arrow, or a spear, and hit him in the forehead. And he kind   
of snorts and moves around like someone asleep who's got a fly walking on his   
face and we didn't dare keep trying, we just grabbed the Jewel and ran like   
crazy. And we almost made it.

[The Ten share glances of regret -- Beren does not realize what they are assuming]

But Carcaroth was already awake, and he's standing there sniffing around as   
we come up, and the instant he sees us it's over. There's no other way to go,   
and he's blocking the exit, and he's mad. And Tinuviel was already almost   
collapsing when she took the spell off me, we're holding onto each other   
pulling each other along but she's leaning on me more, and she just gives   
him this look, like, "I can't do this again, -- but I have to" and he sees   
her and his hackles go right up -- she was the one he most wanted to kill   
at the beginning, she really bothered him even when he thought she was   
Thuringwethil. So I pushed her behind me and shoved the Silmaril up in   
his face.

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Why?

**Beren**: [shrugging]   
Instinct, mostly. --I thought if it burned Morgoth, it might repel him, or   
at least blind him, or at least have a chance where a blade wouldn't -- and   
it did, for a second, but he was too strong, or I didn't do it right, and he   
just whipped right back around with his head and bit at it like it was a fly.

[bringing his left hand down hard against his wrist]

He went through it like kindling -- I could hear the bones crunch when he   
closed, there wasn't any time for me to pull back or anything -- and bolted   
it down like he'd caught the fly and was swallowing it. And then he just   
stood there for a second with his eyes all glowing and growling, just like   
a guard dog would for trespassers -- except for the eyes glowing -- and I   
knew we'd had it, but then he gives this howl like he'd been shot, but it's   
as loud as the whole pack would be, and he kind of arches like a fish jumping   
out of the water, and then he keeps on bucking like a colt -- or like a   
hooked salmon, and he flings around for a minute there before dashing outside   
like he was closing with deer. And there was nothing but air between us and   
the Plains.

**Third Guard**:   
So you didn't die then.

**Beren**:   
No. Tinuviel dragged me out of there and we managed to get clear of the Gate   
before it fell in.

**Third Guard**:   
Carcaroth wasn't waiting for you?

**Ranger**:   
Why did it fall in?

**Beren**:   
No, he was gone. Nothing but dust clouds and echoes way out there. Huh?

**Ranger**:   
What was that about the Gate?

**Beren**:   
Oh. Morgoth woke up then, I guess, since there was this unbelievable roaring   
noise coming from below and the walls started shaking and the floor, and it   
just kept getting worse -- all the wargs in the place started howling the   
way dogs do sometimes, and rocks were falling down from the ceiling, and   
after we got out there was a landslide from up on Thangorodrim and it filled   
up most of the archway with rubble and took down a lot of the masonry over   
the Gate itself.

**Captain**:   
That seems rather counterproductive behavior, doesn't it?

**Beren**:   
Yeah, his temper-tantrum meant that the pursuit couldn't get after us right   
away. So anyway she carries me the rest of the way out and into the open as   
far as she could, and we couldn't go any farther, and we collapsed in one   
of the gouges left by Grond, which was a little bit of cover, and she keeps   
trying to heal me even though her voice makes her a target, and the lightning   
bolts are hitting awfully close--

**Warrior**:   
--Lightning-bolts?

**Beren**:   
Yeah, he wasn't willing to wait for them to unblock the door, I guess, and   
these fireballs kept coming at us from the peak, and the ground kept shaking,   
and I thought the whole world was ending or something. She actually sucked   
all the poison out of the amputation site -- that sounds so much neater than   
it was -- it -- well, you've seen a dog eating a hare -- it was blood and   
ends and sharp bits and--

[he stops short and bends down to hide his face against Huan's coat again. Brief pause]

**Warrior**:   
Are you all right?

[Beren shakes his head, not looking up. Huan makes a grumbling noise, his brow   
furrowing, but doesn't move (which would force Beren to straighten)]

**First Guard**: [understandingly]   
None of us had to watch.

[the Youngest Ranger pats Beren on the back, his expression sympathetic]

**Captain**:   
Beren? --Beren?

[when he still doesn't move, the Captain signals to the Youngest Ranger,   
who obediently pokes Beren hard in the ribs, causing him to sit up in outrage]

You're not being very considerate, stopping all the time like this, you realize.

**Beren**:   
But I don't remember the next part.

[The Guard on his right grabs him by the shoulder and shakes him hard in   
humorous exasperation]

**Third Guard**:   
--Well, did you die or not then? That's all we want to know.

**Soldier**:   
Speak for yourself!

[to Beren]

--Star and Water! can't you just tell the story, and save the apologizing   
for after?

**Beren**: [chagrined]   
Well . . . I . . . was just lying there while she worked on me, and I kept   
blacking out and coming to again and wondering why I couldn't die, and after   
a bit Tinuviel finished singing and pulled her cloak over us and we just   
waited, and at some point I didn't wake up again.

**Soldier**:   
And what about her?

**Beren**:   
The Eagles came and picked us up and took us back to Huan. Back to Doriath,   
as a matter of fact, right where we started from when I tried to sneak off.

**Steward**:   
So you were still alive at that juncture?

**Beren**: [flatly]   
I'm not doing a very good job of telling this, am I?

**Steward**:   
Most people are somewhat disoriented and find it difficult to recount   
their death-experiences without some initial counselling. Of course,   
you've always been somewhat disorganized and deficient as a storyteller,   
though no more so than most mortals.

[Beren gives him an anxious look]

**Second Guard**:   
Don't listen to Master Particular there. I'm enjoying the tale so far.

**Steward**:   
I am speaking only from a bardic standpoint, in answer to milord's direct   
question. Continuity and coherence are challenges for a human mind to achieve.

**Captain**:   
That's because Ea is complicated and messy and happens all at once. --So you   
weren't dead. Yet.

**Beren**:   
Um, no, I wasn't dead, though I wasn't sure about it at the time. I--

**Captain**:   
I thought you didn't remember anything --

**Soldier**: [interrupting]   
Wait a minute, wait a minute -- what Eagles? Where did they come from?

**Beren**:   
I think they live in the mountains down south of Rivil Falls.

**Soldier**:   
You mean -- the Eagles. --Manwe's Eagles?

**Beren**:   
The sacred Eagles, yeah. Ordinary eagles couldn't carry anybody anywhere.   
Except maybe a baby and that's not a fun thing to think about.

**Soldier**:   
You got a divine intervention to pull you out of there? Like the King's uncle?

**Beren**:   
Yeah, only we were still alive. Mostly.

**Third Guard**:   
But why did he send them for you? Was it because the Princess is Melian's   
daughter?

[the Youngest Ranger looks as if he's going to say something, but doesn't want   
to interrupt]

**Beren**:   
No, because of Huan. I mean, Huan sent them. For us.

**Ranger**:   
And they just came? Like that?

**Beren**: [shrugging]   
Well -- yeah. Is that not supposed to happen?

**Ranger**:   
It -- seems very odd. Not to mention implausible. I didn't think that Manwe   
would be watching that closely, and then there's the Doom. Though neither   
of you are Noldor, so perhaps . . .

**Youngest Ranger**: [finally]   
Our traditions say that the Eagle-king acts on his own. He's the Sky-king's   
liege, not a slave. The same with his family.

**Beren**:   
I think they did it because Huan asked them to. I don't know exactly. She   
talked to them, not me. I was unconscious. Then when I woke up it was like   
nothing had changed except the weather, because pretty soon we started   
fighting about how it wasn't safe to stay out there and she kept arguing   
that it was, since nothing had happened that they couldn't handle in and the   
bad weather was over which was the worst of it and it was going to be summer   
pretty soon. Finally I convinced her we had to go back to her parents' place.

**Second Guard:**   
Every time I think you've come to the end, you start a new adventure. Does   
this story ever stop?

**Warrior**:   
Well obviously it did, since they're all here, right?

[elbows the other in the ribs]

Don't interrupt again now that he's finally telling it. --What do you mean,   
"summer"? How long were you comatose?

**Beren**:   
End of winter -- beginning of spring. I came out of it when the Balance changed.

[silence]

**Warrior**: [quietly]   
At least you weren't in pain for the duration.

**Beren**:   
Actually--

[breaks off, then picks up again guiltily]

It wasn't exactly pain, but -- I thought I was dead, and lost somewhere trying   
to get here. It was all grey, and the terrain was terrible, and it kept changing,   
and there were things in it I had to fight and escape from, and there was this   
light, or something, that kept luring me over to it, but I had this feeling I   
shouldn't go that way, that it was an illusion to a trap -- but everywhere I   
went seemed to go back there, except when I closed my eyes and followed the   
Song. Her voice was the only true thing in that place. But I wasn't always brave   
enough to do that, and I kept getting lost again for a long time. But she got   
me out of there finally.

[silence]

**Captain**:   
Do you have any idea where you were?

**Beren**: [meaningfully]   
You don't think it was a dream either.

**Captain**:   
Oh, I think it was a dream. Very definitely. And I think the Lord of Fetters   
was trying to lure you into his hold.

[pause]

**Beren**:   
Okay, that's kind of what I thought. But Tinuviel wasn't sure, because she   
couldn't see where I was, because I'm not an Elf, and she didn't know if we   
go into the Grey Country too, or if I was just trapped inside my mind because   
of the poison. There wasn't anybody else there with me. Except I could hear   
her singing.

[the Captain reaches across and takes Beren's chin, looking him in the eyes]

**Captain**:   
That's an awfully long time to be lost. Mortal or not.

**Beren**: [hugging Huan's neck]   
I -- know. They took care of me all that time.

**Captain**:   
And you kept on, and got home safe and sane.

[he grips Beren's shoulder and then his wrist]

Good job.

[Beren half-smiles, still shaken talking or thinking about it]

**Steward**:   
So you returned to Doriath, and to Menegroth, after all?

**Beren**:   
Yeah. I had a hard time believing that they weren't about to shoot me, or   
lock me up like he threatened, but Tinuviel just stormed right back in like   
a hurricane and acted like she owned the place, and people just fell in with   
it. It was really strange -- this time nobody was laughing, and the way they   
were staring it was like they hoped we were gonna rescue them -- only we   
didn't know right then from what. It was so different from the other time . . .

**Steward**:   
Was Huan with you both?

[Beren nods]

One would rather imagine that put a somewhat of a constraint upon anyone   
who would have arrested you.

**Beren**:   
Yeah, but nobody even tried. Or wanted to. And we go in to where her parents   
are dealing with the chaos, and she drags us right up there and says--

**Captain**: [interrupting]   
--What chaos?

**Beren**:   
All the refugees. And everybody being mobilized who could carry a weapon.

**Steward**:   
Refugees? From where?

**Ranger**:   
And how would they get into Doriath?

**Beren**:   
From Doriath. --Um, they were in the Thousand Caves, that's why it was so crazy.

**Steward**:   
From what, then?

**Beren**:   
Carcaroth.

**Fourth Guard**:   
That's where he went?!

**Beren**:   
Eventually. He was rampaging around the North all that time we were there   
hiding out in the outskirts of Neldoreth, and finally he busted in through   
the barriers on the eastern side like the Labyrinth wasn't even there and   
started killing people in Doriath. He was basically rabid at that point--

**First Guard**:   
How could he get in?

**Beren**:   
Apparently the Silmaril made him practically invincible, --though personally   
I thought he was to begin with -- and at the same time it made him crazy --   
though Tinuviel said he already was crazy, it was so obvious in his aura that   
she couldn't believe I didn't see it. When they cut him open it had blistered   
him all up inside like a bucket of hot coals, as fast as he could heal it kept   
burning right into him.

**Youngest Ranger**:   
So he's dead.

**Beren**:   
Yeah. Thanks to Huan.

[he strokes the Hound's head]

So everyone had evacuated the woods and meadows and moved into the Caves for   
protection, and they look at us like they can't believe we're back, like we're   
gods or something come to save them -- I guess a lot of them assumed we were   
dead to begin with -- and we go into the throne room, and there's this big row   
going on over what to do and people waving maps and the Queen's just sitting   
there looking like a ghost, like she doesn't care about anything anymore, and   
she's in pain, and trying to keep a brave face for everyone else, like my aunt   
before she got too sick to move, and -- he's looking like Da the night after   
everybody left and he didn't have to. But he has to keep doing his job.

[shaking his head]

I was so obnoxious to him. I couldn't help it. We come in and there's all this   
commotion, and Thingol looks up all angry at the ruckus and then he sees her,   
and I've never seen anyone look that -- that stricken. But in a good way. Except--

[he looks down for an instant, biting his lip]

Except when His Majesty recognized me. It was like that, only more . . . So   
we go right up to them, and Tinuviel's holding on to me like grim death, and   
she's got me between her and Huan on the other side, so obviously she thought   
they were going to grab me or kill me too, and I get down on one knee and he's   
just staring at me, and I could see the veins starting to go up on the back   
of his hands, and before he could say anything I said, "Hey, I'm back like I   
said I would be -- you gonna keep your promise now?"

[silence -- the Ten react to this image]

Yeah. I know. But what could I say? I couldn't even say "you can't call me   
a thrall," 'cause that wasn't true any more, and I just had to -- take control,   
I couldn't let him put me on the defensive again or I'd be stammering like an   
idiot like before. And I couldn't do that to her in front of them. So he goes,   
"Where's the Silmaril?" cool as anything, like we'd been gone a week or so. And   
I said, "I've got it in my hand right now," and he says, "Let's see it, then."   
So I hold out my hand, like so, and he gives me the evil eyebrow, and I just   
smiled at him and shook back my cloak and showed him my stump, and I said,   
"Guess you better call me 'empty-handed' after all."

**Captain**: [sighing]   
Oh, Beren . . .

**Beren**:   
I know, I know. And he says, "You want to explain that, young Man?" and I   
told him that the Gate-Guard of Angband bit it off and the jewel with it,   
and he just sort of glares at me, for a long, looong time. And then he goes,   
"You took my daughter where?" --Fortunately Tinuviel took over the conversation   
at that point, and there was a lot of guilt operating there, and she used it   
for all it was worth, because they actually listened to her this time. And me,   
afterwards -- they had them get chairs for us and it was actually civilized,   
when they interrogated us about what we'd been doing.

**Captain**:   
You know, you seem to have a gift, or a curse, for being outrageously insolent   
to powerful people who mean you no good. How many times does that make?

[Beren has to stop and think]

**Beren**:   
There's Thingol, and Sauron, and the sons of Feanor, and Sauron again, and   
Thingol again, so six. Wait, I forgot about Carcaroth. That's seven.

**Captain**:   
What about Morgoth? Surely helping yourself to a Silmaril should count.

**Beren**:   
Yeah, but I wasn't in his face about it. He didn't even know I was there. Not   
like shooting him in the middle of his bodyguard, or asking him who the hell   
he thought he was, messing with us.

[shaking his head]

I -- I still wonder about that, if I made things worse . . . jumping in like   
that when he was at a loss for words, before it went to combat. But it seemed   
like a distraction was needed, even if we weren't supposed to say anything,   
and . . . but I still think about it sometimes when it gets to be around the   
Starless Hour, and ask myself -- did I give us away by doing that?

**Steward**: [distant]   
--No. He was playing with us from the outset. He knew we weren't what we   
seemed. If he hadn't, your bluff might have worked -- that's a typical power-   
ploy, to demand more than one's jurisdiction allows, to see how far one can   
push before meeting resistance.

**Captain**:   
Hence the reason they say war and diplomacy are really the same thing, you know.

**Steward**:   
--And you were correct in your observations from spying on him so long that   
he did not in fact have authority except in times of crisis over the forces   
despatched to the western and eastern fronts, which at that time was not the   
prevailing situation. Had he not revealed that he was aware -- as we were not   
-- that the last "Great Chief" had been killed raiding Doriath during the   
time of our journey and a new one had yet to be chosen, I myself would have   
judged it the manifestation of internal power struggles between the Lord of   
Wolves and Morgoth's other field commanders -- a small gesture of authority,   
intended to remind them who was foremost. He might well have said, "Get out   
of my sight and stop wasting my time, and tell old So-and-so to train you   
better." Or words to that effect.

[pause]

**Beren**:   
Are you sure?

**Steward**:   
That it might have worked, or that he knew beforehand? -- though the one   
hinges upon the other.

**Beren**:   
--Yeah.

**Steward**:   
There is no doubt in my mind that he was aware of some discrepancies and   
already suspicious before we were taken. The way his questioning played out   
leaves no room for it. I've done the same thing myself at court, when we were   
alive, to draw careless adversaries into self-incrimination.

**Fourth Guard**:   
So did he kill you? Was that the mistake you were talking about, to flout   
him? --Elu Thingol, I mean, not the Abhorred One. --Now you've got me   
doing it too.

**Beren**:   
No, I . . . he wasn't actually as angry as he was making out to be, it turned   
out. In the meantime Celegorm had sent him a letter which was even more obnoxious   
than anything I'd said so far, and he apparently decided that compared to that   
crew he could almost cope with the thought of me as a son-in-law, in a lesser   
of two evils kind of way.

**Fourth Guard**: [amazed]   
Is that a joke?

**Beren**:   
No, it was really bad. I didn't see it -- he had sent the scroll back under   
separate cover to Orodreth, which must have been interesting, and I wonder   
when it got there, if it was before or after they were kicked out -- but they   
recited the contents for us word-for-word.

[pause]

We're pretty sure Curufin wrote the actual thing. It was all about how they'd   
taken over Nargothrond and gotten us killed and if he knew what was good for   
him, he wouldn't try to challenge them about Luthien 'cause he was going to   
marry her. Um, Celegorm, not his brother. And a lot of stuff which I didn't   
get but Tinuviel says was about stuff that had happened in the past. So they   
let me stay there.

**Ranger**:   
That doesn't sound particularly welcoming.

**Beren**:   
Hey, I only said not quite as mad. --He was really angry before. That leaves a   
lot of room for variation in "not quite."

**Third Guard**:   
But they let you get married.

**Beren**:   
Yes.

**Third Guard**:   
Even though you hadn't actually brought it to him.

[Beren nods]

**Steward**:   
And they didn't poison you at the feast?

**Captain**: [staring at him]   
Where did you come up with that notion? You're even more paranoid than I   
am these days.

**Steward**:   
Being betrayed rather does that to one.

**Beren**:   
No. No, they were completely honorable about it. I -- I think her father did   
understand that I was asking for help, and why, showing up without it -- even   
if I did phrase it as an insult. And Tinuviel just didn't let up on making   
them feel bad. One big factor in the guilting was that they felt really awful   
about us being up on the central borders after I was bit, about how she would   
rather live alone out in what was essentially their backyard with just Huan to   
help her get through the winter, rather than ask for help taking care of me,   
because she couldn't trust them. I think that ripped his heart out more than   
anything else, because it was no way I could have been controlling her, not with--

[snorts]

--"spells," and not with just ordinary emotional means. There was damn all in   
the way of comfort for her from me during that time, and I think that made them   
realize how serious she was and how they'd misjudged her. Even more than her   
fighting the Dark Lord and his minions, which I don't think they ever really   
believed.

**Second Guard**:   
How could they not?

**Beren**:   
Well, it did sound kind of improbable. And the way she told it was this very   
offhand, almost sarcastic way, like you might make a joke, and if you didn't   
know it was true you might think she was making a joke -- and you know how I   
tell stories. Everyone kept saying things like, "Not our little Luthien, surely!"

**Steward**:   
Oh. --Dear.

**Beren**:   
Yeah, that just made her get more sarcastic. And it was kind of hard to believe,   
even if you were there for it, but still, I mean -- we did have Huan there with   
us, which we didn't before, and so forth. --I could see why she was making such   
a big deal out of having them call her Tinuviel. So anyway it was really long   
and confusing, because they kept interrupting -- not like you, of course--

[the Guard on his right shoves him lightly, and he grins]

--and between her saying things like "So then I told Morgoth to shut up," and   
me going, "Um, I don't remember that part," every other minute, I've heard far   
more plausible fictions being told about stuff like what happened to the column   
on the porch and why we had no idea how it got all scorched like that.

**Captain**:   
--Told them, too, I gather.

**Beren**: [wide-eyed innocence]   
I have no idea what you're talking about, Sir.

**Captain**: [same tone]   
Of course not.

**Beren**:   
Like she said, it was pretty hellish at dinner -- oh wait, you weren't here   
then -- but it was. Her dad kept cringing every time I opened my mouth, but it   
turned out it's because -- well, part of it at least -- because of my accent.

**Ranger**: [indignant]   
What's wrong with your accent?

**Beren**:   
He said it sounded like I was mangling the words on purpose and drawling my   
vowels to sound affected and insolent.

**Steward**:   
You can't help your native dialect.

**Beren**: [sighing]   
No . . . but I tried. And that just made it harder to talk. And then . . .   
then he started to make a crack about how could his nephew stand to listen to   
us, and then he choked off and dropped his cup and got up and walked away to   
where the little golden trees were and just sat down for a bit, and nobody   
knew what to do or say, and then he came back and pretended like nothing had   
happened. And then Tinuviel asked if Daeron was off sulking and couldn't even   
be civil, and there was this dead silence, and it turned out that was another   
thing I was responsible for, besides the Wolf.

**Warrior**:   
What happened?

**Beren**:   
He split when they were searching for her, right after she ran away, and   
nobody knows what happened to him. I suppose that Carcaroth might have killed   
him, even, but I doubt he could have stayed hid all that time if they were   
quartering Doriath looking for Tinuviel.

**First Guard**:   
He isn't here.

**Third Guard**: [sarcastic]   
Unless he's laying very low. --Again.

**Warrior**:   
He'd better. If I run into him I'm going to let him have it.

**Beren**: [softly]   
Guys -- you don't have to be -- so -- I'm okay. I'll be all right.

**Soldier**:   
No, you're not, and yes, we do.

**Second Guard**:   
Though you do look a lot better now. You're more yourself.

**Beren**: [frowning]   
You know, that really is a weird expression. --How can you be more or less   
yourself? Either you are yourself or you're not.

**Youngest Range**r:   
What if one of the Enemy's agents is disguised as you?

**Fourth Guard**: [around Beren]   
Then that's not you.

**Youngest Ranger**:   
But what if you're possessed?

**Fourth Guard**:   
Then it isn't you yourself either.

**Youngest Ranger**:   
All right then, but suppose Morgoth has put a control on you, and you don't   
know it, and you're still doing what you would ordinarily do, but wouldn't you   
say that you were less yourself then?

**Captain**: [to Beren]   
Do you really want to have another metaphysical crisis?

[Beren shakes his head. To the debaters:]

All right then, table this discussion. --Unless you lot would rather hear   
yourselves argue than find out how it ends.

[they shut up]

**Beren**:   
All right, where were we again?

**Steward**:   
At a very unpleasant-sounding Acclamation banquet.

**Beren**:   
Hoo boy, was it ever. Between me trying not to make a complete fool of myself,   
and Tinuviel ready to savage anyone who looked cross-eyed at me, and the Queen   
and King trying to be civil and not doing a real good job at it -- and the   
general atmosphere of panic and Doom over the whole place, and people starting   
to admit that maybe it wasn't all my fault after all--

**Captain**:   
--You're admitting it wasn't?

**Beren**:   
Hey. Don't put words in my mouth.

[Huan grins and thumps his tail on the grass and whoever is too close; Beren taps   
him on the top of his skull]

--Quiet, you. I mean, it wasn't like I had anything directly to do with the   
fact that they were sending an embassy to Himring to demand justice from   
Maedhros against his younger brothers, or that they had to do that because   
the two mad bastards kidnapped their daughter, or that she got kidnapped by   
them because she ran away, and she ran away with no guards or anything because   
they locked her up in a tree. Indirectly it was my fault because she wouldn't   
have done it except to help me, and Carcaroth wouldn't have been able to get   
through the Labyrinth after slaughtering the embassy if I hadn't given him   
the Silmaril--

**Ranger**:   
You're making it sound like you just handed it to him.

**Beren**: [dryly]   
On account of how that's essentially what I did, even if it wasn't what I   
was trying to do. And everyone was kind of proud that one of their own had   
taken down the Lord of Fetters, even if they didn't half believe it and it   
was only temporarily. So it was really weird. Oh, and did you know that   
Melian and Tinuviel's dad lived up in Dorthonion before it was called   
Dorthonion before anyone else lived there, when they were newlyweds?

[the Ten shake their heads, looking at each other.]

It's true. I'm not making that up. They started talking about that as a way   
of trying to make conversation with me, and it was awful, because they kept   
saying things like, "How did the grove we planted along the top of the cliffs   
turn out?" and I'd say, "you mean the forest on the pine bluffs?" and then   
I'd have to tell them it got burned and turned into the Nightshade, or they'd   
say to each other, "Remember that meadow where we used to listen to your birds?"   
and I'd have to tell them we put a town there, only that got burned too, or   
about how they lived for a few decades at the lake, on our island, not that   
far from where Da's buried, and Tinuviel and her mother were having some kind   
of staring war across the table, and I'm not sure if they were really talking,   
or just meaningful looks, but she seemed to think all this proved some kind of   
point, like "See?" and I thought the candlesticks were going to melt, the way   
they were glaring at each other. So that was pretty depressing, too.

[sighs]

And before that -- does this sound familiar or not? there was all kinds of   
fuss before dinner after we finished telling about our adventures about trying   
to make us comfortable and especially, presentable, and that just sent Tinuviel   
right around the bend, anyone saying anything -- or even implying, or maybe   
implying anything -- about her hair or clothes or me being a mess -- I mean,   
Captain Strongbow just said something about how Huan must take a lot of brushing   
being as big as he is, and she tore into him like a rabid w--

[abrupt stop]

**Captain**: [to the two on either side of Beren]   
Thump him on the back, he's choking on guilt again--

**Beren**: [hastily]   
--and there was trouble about trying to find something to fit me, and me   
saying I didn't care if it was kids' clothes or not, or a woman's tunic,   
clothes are just clothes and the only thing that mattered was were they   
warm and I could rip the sleeves off or roll them up and nobody had to make   
anything special, but of course they did anyway, only it wasn't quite done   
in time for the feast and we did the apologizing thing and Tinuviel and her   
mom had a fight over her wanting to wear her old dress, sort of come-as-you-   
are solidarity, and she threatened to show up wearing nothing but her hair,   
and Melian cried, and that was -- and she said, "Why should I care, I cried   
enough and you didn't pay any attention," and I had to beg her to back off,   
so she let them fancy her up, but she was really grumpy about it, and that   
wasn't fun, and . . .

**First Guard**:   
It sounds worse than the council disaster.

**Beren**:   
It went on longer. Or at least it felt like it. I -- I was feeling so trapped,   
like when I was in a cave or a hole and they were beating the woods for me   
overhead, trying not to either panic or go into that kind of vacant way where   
you just step back and watch it all happen.

**Steward**:   
"Fugue state."

**Beren**:   
Is that the word for it?

**Ranger**: [nodding]   
Comes from "being hunted."

**Beren:**   
Figures. I sure felt hunted then. Anyway the conversation for obvious reasons   
kept working around to Carcaroth and what they were doing about him, which was   
organizing a massive wolf-hunt for the next day because they had finally got a   
good report on where he was -- you know Beleg's crazy, right? Crazier even than   
I am -- and especially now that they knew it was because he had the Silmaril,   
they really didn't want to find out if it would keep making him stronger, or   
wait to see if it would kill him, 'cause a lot of their Sages thought that it   
would probably heal him or help his healing abilities -- something like that --   
at the same time as it was burning him, and there was no telling if even   
Menegroth's shields would keep him out. And . . . I knew I had to go because   
it was my fault.

**Captain**:   
I thought you said that it wasn't.

**Beren**:   
On the final count it was. He was.

**Captain**:   
Carcaroth was your fault? Since when were you involved in summoning demons   
to this Circle and giving them bodies?

**Beren**: [earnestly]   
Carcaroth was made to stop Huan. He wouldn't have been put there if Morgoth   
hadn't gotten scared hearing about how Huan destroyed Sauron's power. Huan   
wouldn't have tried to take on an entire fortress single-handedly--

**Huan**:   
[sharp bark]

**Beren**:   
--Yeah, yeah, whatever -- by himself, if it wasn't for Tinuviel trying to   
save me. None of us would have been there if I hadn't been going for the   
Silmaril. Therefore it's ultimately and really my fault.

**Steward**:   
What did Lady Luthien say to that argument?

**Beren**:   
You don't want to know. --Trust me on that.

**Youngest Ranger**:   
You surely didn't fight on your wedding, Beren?

**Beren**: [deadpan]   
Why stop then? We had an unbroken record going.

**Youngest Ranger**:   
But that's bad luck!

**Beren**:   
No kidding. You don't say.

**Youngest Ranger**: [sad]   
That's not the way you dreamt it would be.

**Beren**: [gloomy]   
It's way worse than that. She brought that up to me. --One of the things   
I never thought of about having a demi-goddess for a mother-in-law -- the   
Queen actually told her, way back--

[he breaks off]

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Told her what?

**Beren**: [muttering]   
About how I was dreaming about her when we were in the Pit.

**Captain**:   
But what's wrong with that?

**Beren**:   
It--

**Captain**:   
There was nothing disrespectful or inappropriate in it.

**Beren**: [helplessly]   
No, but--

**Steward**:   
Surely you do not imagine that your lady didn't equally dream of and long   
for you? Else why should she wish to wed you?

**Beren**: [pleading]   
Look, I'm only mortal! I don't have Elvish attitudes about everything, and--

[breaks off, wincing in humiliation]

**Ranger**: [agreeably]   
Your people are strange about that. I remember someone --

[to the Soldier]

--your wife belonged to that school, didn't she? -- theorized that mortals   
weren't supposed to be incarnates and this was one more proof that Morgoth   
had given them bodies, but I never believed that.

**Soldier**: [nodding]   
I don't see how she could have been right about it: he was able to touch the   
Silmaril, after all, and if mortal flesh were inherently corrupt that oughtn't   
have been possible. --How come Men are so peculiar about something as normal   
as the conception of their own offspring? I've never understood why you all   
make such an issue of it, especially since you need so many of them. Why would   
mortal parents want to pretend to their children that they just happen along   
out of thin air--

**Ranger**:   
--or under rocks, don't forget under rocks--

[Beren covers his face with his hand, laughing in spite of himself]

**Soldier**:   
--even when everyone knows it isn't true?

**First Guard**: [musingly]   
I think for the same reason that mortal children want to pretend the same   
thing. It's like the time we were visiting Eithel Sirion and there was a new   
human guardsman there who wanted to know what the celebration was for, and we   
told him, and after he finished coughing and someone fetched him a new drink,   
it turned out he thought we were joking.

**Third Guard**:   
You saying back, "You mean you don't remember it?" didn't help convince   
him otherwise. It was funny, but we never understood why the High King's   
Men would rather congratulate the Prince on his birth than his conception.   
It seemed like silly semantic games to me.

**Second Guard**:   
We could ask Beren instead of speculating.

**First Guard**:   
We could, but he'd just get even more embarrassed than he already is.

[to Beren]

--Of course, I didn't ask you when your conception-day was, because by then   
we knew better, but I hadn't met very many mortals back when Dor-lomin was   
just getting started, I'd just come back from a few score on the Coast Watch.

[Beren ducks down between the Sindar Ranger and the Fourth Guard, hiding against   
Huan's ruff]

**Fourth Guard: **[mischievously]   
--Speaking of which, when is yours?

[Beren groans without looking up]

**Captain**:   
He's going into a "fugue state" again -- why don't you all stop teasing him   
about being strange and let him finish the story?

**Youngest Ranger**: [indignant]   
Beren's not strange, Sir!

**Fourth Guard**: [reasonably]   
Yes, he is. He's strange even for a mortal. Perhaps especially for a mortal.

[leaning way over so that he can see Beren's face a little]

But we love him anyway. And we do want to know what happens next.

[pause -- Beren finally lifts his forehead off Huan's neck and looks at the Guard,   
who smiles at him until he finally smiles back, if rather wanly.]

**Beren**: [quiet]   
There's not much left. Except us getting killed.

**Fourth Guard**: [remaining lying across Huan's back as though the Hound were a log]   
So are you going to tell us how that happened finally?

**Beren**:   
Yeah. It's almost over.

[looks down for a moment]

We rode out from Menegroth early, and we quartered the district where he   
was supposed to have been last, and it was really strange, being there again,   
because he was practically where I lived all those months, but it was so   
different -- the woods were so quiet, as if even the trees were afraid of   
him, no birds, not even any bugs around, it was spooky. When we caught up   
with him he went to ground in very dense cover, no way could you go in there   
and have a chance--

**Captain**:   
Where was it?

**Beren**:   
Um -- you know where the north edge of the forest is, there's those rocks   
where Esgalduin comes down from the plateau into a gorge?

**Captain**:   
Yes. That ravine's quite narrow, but it goes back a long way.

**Beren**:   
Right, and it's mostly thornbrake, with thick sedge growing in between the   
branches. So we staked it out, we were sure he wouldn't have the patience   
to stay there, since he hadn't shown any sort of reasoned behavior before   
according to them. But it was starting to get late in the day, and I was   
getting worried because if it got to be dark, all the advantage was going   
to be on Carcaroth's side--

**Captain**: [bland]   
Out in the night with an ox-sized werewolf in rough country in a gully so   
steep that it's dim there even at noon -- you don't think that was a good idea?

**Beren**: [just as innocent]   
--I do have reasonable moments from time to time -- and I kept saying this,   
and maybe we ought to think about trying to fire the thicket, even though that   
wasn't a great idea, and her dad was pointing out that the way the wind was   
we'd be completely blinded by the smoke as well as choked by it and it wouldn't   
help, either, and Huan I guess agreed about the dangers of letting it get too   
dark, because all of the sudden we realized that he wasn't there next to me   
any more, but we didn't see which way he went. And then he--

[tapping Huan's nose]

--starts baying down in the thickets, and everyone's on edge, even more that   
is, looking to see if we can see them, but we don't until Carcaroth busts out   
on our side and comes rushing up the hill towards us with Huan hot on his tail,   
and he's going too fast for any of the watchers to catch up with him, I think   
maybe someone hit him with an arrow but it didn't slow him any more than a   
charging boar, and most of them went wild, and he didn't seem to know which of   
us he was going after, me or Thingol, but then he goes for her dad and I tried   
to block him like he was a boar,

[gesturing]

--but I fumbled it and he grabbed me and shook me like a hare and then Huan   
jumps on him and he drops me and they start fighting like a mortal dog going   
after a bear, so loud it made rockfalls come down where the waterfall was,   
and the echoes keep bouncing back overhead until I thought I was going deaf,   
and other people start running up to us but no one can get near the fight,   
and Thingol doesn't answer them when they're asking him if he's hurt, he   
doesn't tell them it's mine, it's like he doesn't even hear them -- he just   
keeps staring at me, holding my hand, like he's trying to ask me something,   
only he can't, or like he knows I'm dying and doesn't want to say it.

**Huan**:   
[loud whines]

**First Guard**: [upset]   
Didn't you take Curufin's mail? Weren't you wearing it?

[Beren reaches over Huan's head and pulls back the Hound's lip, revealing his fangs.]

**Beren**:   
Two or more times bigger than that? And jaw strength to go with it? I might   
as well have been wearing just a gambeson.

[He grabs Huan's lower jaw and wrestles gently with his head, as if the Hound were   
a puppy (though a puppy the size of a Kodiak bear)]

Only difference it made was making it harder for them to to start treating me.

[winces and headshaking all around]

Poor Huan comes staggering over all stiff-legged to us and lies down next to   
me, and he's all torn up, and he tells me . . .

[he trails off, stroking the Hound's ears. Sadly:]

--You were right about us having the same Doom. --Then Mablung opened up   
Carcaroth and that's when they saw how badly the Silmaril had burnt him inside,   
I heard them talking about it, but he still risked reaching in to take it,   
because he didn't want me not to have fulfilled my promise because of his   
fault. Even if it didn't really matter anymore. He -- I'm sorry I didn't get   
a chance to know him better.

**Captain**: [quietly]   
Mablung's a good Elf -- wise and fair-minded as well as brave. Thingol has   
some excellent people working for him.

**Beren**: [nods]   
Yeah. Beleg too. The one thing that really freaked them was that apparently   
my hand was still locked around the stone--

**Fourth Guard**:   
After all that time?

**Beren**:   
Yeah. It didn't evaporate until he touched it, and then it was just gone,   
bones and everything, like the jewel was keeping it there.

**Steward**:   
But it burned the Wolf.

**Beren**:   
Weird, huh? So he brought it over to me really quick, and put it in my hand   
and held my arm so that I could give it to her father, and he didn't even   
look at it, he just kept looking at me, and going, --Why? Then they made a   
stretcher for both of us and carried us back to Menegroth . . . I was glad   
they put me next to him, even if he couldn't feel it . . . I could almost   
pretend it was like old times, out in the woods.

**Ranger**:   
Was Thingol glad?

**Beren**: [shaking his head]   
Not at all. Nobody was.

**Steward**:   
I imagine he was rather relieved at the outcome, nevertheless.

**Beren**:   
No. He -- he did change, even before. He was really upset when he heard about   
Curufin shooting me.

**Fourth Guard**: [scratching Huan's ribs while he talks]   
Yes, but you said he was shooting at the Princess. Don't you think that   
was the reason?

[pause]

**Beren**: [deliberately]   
It would have been easy -- very easy -- to let me die, then. And he did   
everything he could, to get me back to her, alive. It wasn't his fault   
that she couldn't heal me.

**Warrior**:   
Couldn't they have gotten you back faster? Why couldn't he have taken you   
up before him and ridden the distance in a quarter of the time?

**Captain**:   
Good point. Why didn't he?

**Beren**:   
Sir -- I had a collapsed lung. It wasn't -- just the poison. And all kinds   
of crushed ribs and things torn from when he shook me and -- they hardly   
dared to move me onto the stretcher. It's like the problem of do you pull   
an arrow or not if it's poisoned but an artery's nicked and you can't cauterize   
it then and there. If they jostled me it might of made the bleeding worse.

[pause]

And there was something wrong here--

[touching his sternum]

--and in my back. It -- I shouldn't have lasted an hour.

**Captain**:   
But you did make it back to her.

[Beren nods]

**Beren**:   
I was barely managing to keep breathing -- again, it didn't really hurt, not   
all that much, they weren't letting me suffer if they could help it, it was   
just that it took so much effort -- like rolling a big chunk of fieldstone   
when it's just you and nobody else, each time you get it over you think,   
"That's it, that's the last one, I can't do this again --" and then you fling   
yourself at it again until it goes over again, just a little bit farther.   
And then we were there, and -- it was strange, 'cause I shouldn't have been   
able to see anything, by then, I could barely see the flames of the torches   
around, but I could see her, and everyone else, like the way I see you now,   
but her the brightest, even brighter than the stone, and there was light in   
the trees as well, especially in the big one, and I don't know if I was just   
hallucinating or what. It didn't feel like it.

[pause -- the Ten exchange significant looks]

**Captain**:   
You need to tell the King about that. It sounds like it means something   
important, but I'm not entirely sure what.

**Steward**:   
I concur.

**Beren**:   
Uh--okay.

[pause]

**Third Guard**: [gently]   
Can you please finish?

**Beren**:   
She came up to us and put one hand on each of us and looked at me, and I   
tried to tell her -- everything -- I was sorry, and for her not to be unhappy,   
and it wasn't her fault she couldn't save me this time -- but I couldn't,   
I -- I didn't have words any more, and she just said, "I know. I love you   
too." And she told me to wait for her here, and then she kissed me. And then   
it didn't hurt . . . it was just . . . strange . . . I was pulled along --   
whatever I was -- in the wind like a leaf in Fall -- I couldn't even have   
thought of resisting if I'd wanted to. And when I'd gotten here I . . . I   
just waited in the dark. That was the only thing I could do, until Huan   
came for me and started taking care of me, and things started coming back.   
And these people I couldn't really see -- they were just lights and voices,   
but that might have just been me -- they kept coming and asking me what I   
was doing, or what I thought I was doing, and telling me to move, and I   
couldn't do what they wanted because I had to wait.

[he breaks off, sounding very frayed at the recollection. Huan leans up and   
shoves his nose in Beren's ear, keening. Into Huan's fur:]

Good boy. --You're my good boy.

[to the Ten:]

I'm sorry. I'm acting so stupid about it.

[long silence]

**Steward**:   
We weren't alone. --Except for him.

[nodding towards the Soldier]

**Soldier**: [shaking his head]   
That was only a little while. And Lady Nia was with me for most of it.

**Beren**: [wiping his eyes]   
So . . . you're really all right? I know he said, but . . .

**Steward**:   
We've no complaints.

[several of the Ten exchange ironic Looks at that]

**Soldier**: [smiling at Beren]   
Especially not now.

**Captain**:   
It's too quiet, but that's all. After the Gaurhoth, we're not inclined to   
gripe about the scenery being dull or the subdued quality of experience here.

**Beren**: [glancing up at the shadowy vaulting]   
I thought maybe I was missing things, but it sounds like it really isn't all   
that much more, uh, detailed, than what I can make out.

**Ranger**: [looking over at the Soldier]   
We had a bet going that it was boring on purpose so that people won't   
malinger, but that turned out not to be the case.

**Beren**:   
And Finrod isn't bored crazy by it?

**Captain**:   
He's a very hard person to bore. When it gets dull he comes up with   
something interesting to do.

**Third Guard**:   
And then no one's bored. Though it usually means we get into trouble.

**Beren**:   
You seem so -- unfazed by the idea now.

**Soldier**: [shrugs]   
What are they going to do? Lady Vaire lectures us, or Lord Namo lectures us,   
or they both give us disappointed looks, and we apologize, and it's fine   
till next time. There's not much of a big deal about it any more.

**Youngest Ranger**: [quietly]   
--At least not for you.

**Captain**:   
I haven't noticed you remaining non-participant in any of his schemes.

**Youngest Ranger**: [frowning at his commander]   
--Of course not.

**Captain**:   
Well, then. But it is true, many people are much more upset at getting   
scolded than we are, and much more worried that some unnamed something   
is going to happen to them.

**Beren**:   
Has it ever?

**Captain**:   
Aside from being told to go away and think about things until one is fit   
for Elven society again? Not often. Or ever.

**Second Guard**:   
Except for us.

**Warrior**:   
Yes, but we're insane. Everyone knows that.

**Beren**: [worried]   
What happened to you guys?

**Second Guard**:   
Lady Vaire lost her temper.

**Beren**:   
And?

**Second Guard**:   
She yelled. And broke a lamp. Though that was by accident, she was pounding   
against the door frame and didn't look.

**Beren**:   
That's it?

**Second Guard**:   
That's it.

**Captain**:   
But you must understand, the Weaver has never, ever lost her temper in the   
entire course of earth's history. No one -- including the demigods who work   
here -- can remember her raising her voice. Or banging on things. It was   
very distressing.

**Steward**:   
Though the circumstances were rather amusing. The timing of it, at the least.

**Captain**:   
I thought you didn't think any of it was funny.

**Steward**:   
There is a difference between being amused and howling like a loon.

**Beren**:   
What was funny about it?

**Captain**:   
Certain persons were taking exception to our attitude, and--

**Beren**:   
What's wrong with your attitude?

**Captain**:   
Oh, we don't know how to behave at all. We sing ridiculous songs--

**Soldier**:   
--And make jokes.

**Steward**: [pointedly]   
--And a few individuals have been known to use deeply offensive language   
from time to time.

**Fourth Guard**:   
And we haven't gone through the normal stages of "denial" and "anger"   
and "resignation" and "acceptance."

**Captain**:   
Though someone seems to be stuck at resignation.

**Fourth Guard**:   
I mean, what's to deny? "No, I didn't get eaten by a wolf-demon?" And   
little point in being angry about it now, is there?

**Ranger**:   
We occasionally use weird sentence constructions and peculiar expressions   
picked up from some backwoods barbarians we met in the North Country.

**First Guard**:   
And all in all we're a strange and incomprehensible and uncouth lot, and a   
bad example to the rest.

**Captain**:   
--But according to certain core members of the sort-of following of Feanor,   
we're also pathetic pets and grovelling lackeys of the Powers, which is why   
we're so repellently cheerful and unconcerned about the things they stress over.

**Warrior**:   
--Like who interrupted whom in front of whomever else, back before they   
were exiled to Formenos. I mean, really -- that was over five hundred   
years ago, and some of the people they're talking about are still in   
Beleriand, so they can't speak for themselves, and who really gives a   
damn, any more, anyways? --Criminetlies!!

**Captain**:   
--Which obscure mortal idiom would be taken as a pointed insult, and I'd   
probably have to end up skewering someone before the conversation was over,   
if I'd said that. So there was nattering along that vein, and His Majesty   
was continuing to play and pretending not to hear any of it, and I'd taken   
my blade and put it on the table, as a little reminder, because sooner or   
later Himself ignoring it was going to push someone's temper past flashpoint   
and I don't consider it drawing first to simply point out that I'm there,   
I'm paying attention, and if you lay a discourteous hand on him I'm going   
to chop it off.

**Steward**:   
The High King hates it when you do that, you know.

**Captain**:   
Yes, but he hates it even more when I hit offenders with the board or the   
pieces, or the table. Lesser of evils and so forth. Besides, what really   
irritates him is when I make suggestions as to what he should have done to   
win. And right at that moment the Lady of the Halls storms in like the wrath   
of Osse shouting "Finrod Ingold Finarfinion, WHAT have you done to my house?!?"   
A number of people vanished right then and there, and the ones who wanted to   
stay and see us get into trouble made themselves scarce when glass started   
breaking. And Himself shouts back, "I did what you told me to do!" and they   
go back and forth for a bit until milady hit the sconce trying to emphasize   
the point that we were to leave the walls alone, supporting walls or not.

**Beren**:   
I see what you mean about the timing.

**Captain**:   
Then she became extremely upset, and the King offered to try to fix it for   
her, and she threw the bits at us and left.

**Beren**:   
Ouch.

**Captain**:   
Oh, matters worsened after that. When people started coming back to see if   
we'd been thrown in the dungeon -- there isn't one, but try convincing anyone   
of that by logical means like maps --

**Fourth Guard**: [scratching Huan between the shoulderblades]   
--Though she could make one, I suppose, if we bother her enough --

**Captain**:   
--the Lady came back as well and saw that we'd made a basin to stop the dew   
from running all over the floor and that Himself was not only trying to mend   
it but had gotten a few of the smaller breaks back together, and she kneels   
down next to us and starts apologizing for losing her temper and finishes   
fixing the lamp, and he apologizes in turn, and tries to convince her to let   
him keep on working on it, and this goes on until it's almost as annoying as   
you two, and they parted company ruffled and exasperated but not furious.

**Beren**:   
That doesn't sound like grovelling, though. Not really. That's kind of like   
a border dispute, when you both claim it's really your fault.

[pause]

I'm not sure what I'm trying to say. I didn't want to usurp his authority.

**Captain**:   
There is truth in your words, though. It does become a contest of pride and   
will. Not that anyone in the present company knows anything about that.

**Beren**:   
So why does he just stick around for them to insult him?

**Captain**:   
That doesn't happen as often any more, I must confess.

**Ranger**: [innocent]   
Can't imagine why, Sir.

**Captain**:   
But it's hard to hide here, if you don't want to be invisible and inaudible   
and blend into the background. The more -- interesting one is, the more other   
people tend to cluster 'round, just to see what will happen next. Or to ask   
advice, or his opinion, or just to listen to him talk about things.

**Steward**:   
That, too, is little different from the world Outside.

**Captain**:   
He isn't really cut out to be a hermit, however much he might like to pretend   
to himself that he is.

[pause]

**Beren**:   
Nope.

[he suddenly shivers and looks around a bit wildly]

**Captain**:   
What?

**Beren**: [low voice]   
I think there's someone else in the room. But I can't see anyone.

**Captain**:   
Very likely.

**Beren**:   
You can't tell?

**Captain**:   
No more than you. Not if they choose to remain thus.

[softly, to the room at large]

--You're welcome to join us, you know. We're not as dangerous as everyone   
says we are--

**Warrior**:   
--though twice as crazy--

**Captain**:   
--don't listen to him, it's thrice -- but you're just as welcome to stay as   
you are. --All of you.

**Beren**:   
How many could there be?

[the Ten shrug]

--But there could be other -- ghosts, here.

**Steward**:   
You needn't fear them.

**Beren**:   
I'm not -- Okay. I am.

[shaking his head]

It's stupid, but I-- I'm still mortal. I still have those old superstitions,   
even if I am one now.

**Youngest Ranger**: [troubled]   
Are you afraid of us?

**Beren**: [snorting]   
Of course not!

**Captain**: [shrugs]   
Sometimes they are spies and mean us ill. It doesn't matter. We have nothing   
to hide, they won't find any discreditable murders in our pasts, and there   
aren't any secret "tricks" to our winning: it's a few hundred years more of   
hard fighting and training together combined with in-depth analysis of   
the situations.

**Steward**:   
Most of them are simply unready. Occasionally they join us, at least for   
a little, and it does them good.

**Captain**:   
And us.

[Beren gives him a bemused look]

The King was utterly shattered when he arrived -- the thought of you being   
reserved for prolonged torment as a result of his mistakes was more than he   
could bear. Lady Nia was the only one who could get through to him, and even   
that was just bringing him to the point where he was willing to talk, not   
moving beyond that. He spent most of the time insubstantial, or nearly so,   
and if any of us tried to reach him when he wasn't, he'd vanish. --Until   
the news came of your escape.

**Steward**:   
We were speaking of matters -- and of yourself, milord -- and much to my   
astonishment I was seized by someone who had not been manifest but a moment   
previously and it demanded of me to tell, at once, whether indeed it was of   
yourself we were conversing. And after the initial shock had passed and the   
confused account set somewhat in order, we hastened to find our lord and   
inform him.

[pause]

**Captain**: [half-smile]   
What he's not saying is that he almost shoved the Lady right out of the way   
and quite forgot to apologize after. I've never seen anyone rattle him the   
way you do. --Sorry, I didn't mean to break in.

**Steward**:   
Of course not -- you never even notice that you're doing so.

**Captain**: [encouraging]   
Keep going.

**Steward**:   
Why? You'll merely interrupt again in another sentence or two.

[the Captain grimaces and shakes his head]

**Captain**:   
All right, then. --So Edrahil catches hold of him by the shoulders shouting,   
"He's safe -- it's all right, he's safe," and Himself, too surprised to   
disappear, hears this and says, "Perhaps she'll forgive me, then," and we're   
trying to explain that it isn't what he thinks, and that takes a bit, and then   
a little longer for him to grasp it, and then all of the sudden he's back,   
and he says, "Well then, I suppose I should leave off mourning and go pay my   
respects to the Lord and Lady of the Halls and then to my kindred. But not,   
I think, like this, or they'll think I'm a most confused Wild Man," and Edrahil   
says, "Oh, I doubt that very much -- I understand the Laughing Folk are far   
more particular about their appearance," and--

**Steward**:   
I did not--

**Captain**:   
Yes, you did.

**Steward**: [piqued]   
Not like that.

**Captain**:   
No, I can't quite do that tone of yours, it's inimitable. And he bursts out   
laughing and says, "Help me get presentable, then, will you?" and had him braid   
his hair the way Lady Earwen used to, in the Teler fashion, or as close as we   
could remember it, and attired himself after the manner that was his habit when   
visiting her parents, in Alqualonde, and had word sent to Lord Namo and Lady   
Vaire that he was ready to speak to them.

**Beren**:   
That sounds like it's supposed to be some kind of statement. Is it?

**Captain**: [nodding]   
He's gotten over his guilt about the Kinslaying entirely.

**Third Guard**:   
Getting killed for it seems to have thoroughly exorcised it, for all of us.

[quietly]

--It hurt so much seeing him like that and not being able to do anything . . .   
we were afraid he'd stay that way until you had to be dead, one way or another.

**Steward**:   
Meeting and speaking with those of the Kinslain who are still here has helped   
as well, I think. And so we went out to meet those who are here, and he shone   
so brightly that some thought him Eonwe come to bear word from Taniquetil, and   
all were astonished when he came to pay respect to his uncle, for none had the   
slightest notion he -- or we -- had even arrived here, for the duration of his   
time in sorrow. His spirit dimmed with the Lady Amarie's refusal, --but your   
coming has given him more heart than even the organization of the Battles.

[Beren looks away, embarrassed]

**Beren**: [changing the subject]   
How did he send her messages, anyway? I thought no one could leave here.   
I mean, except being sent by Lord Mandos.

**Captain**:   
Well, the people who work here can.

**Beren**:   
People?

**Captain**:   
The Powers are people, don't you agree?

**Beren**:   
Well, yeah, of course -- but -- he didn't have Mandos himself running errands   
for him, did he?!?

**Captain**:   
Of course not. I think he asked one of the security staff to deliver it on   
the way to Everwhite. It might have been one of Lady Vaire's spinners.

**Ranger**: [respectful but unhesitating]   
No, sir, it was the Weaver's handmaiden who brought the reply back. Remember?   
She was very apologetic about bearing bad news.

[pause]

**Beren**:   
You're making it sound like the -- the Ainur? -- are hearthguards and   
maidservants going on holiday and visiting their families and gossiping.   
Just like a great hall's household back home.

[silence]

--Because it's like that?

[nods all round]

Heh.

[shakes his head, laughing at himself.]

Okay. Who's Eonwe? I'm trying to remember and I just can't. Is he the guy   
who makes storms?

**Soldier**:   
No, that's Osse. Eonwe's the chief royal courier of the gods. Kind of like   
Lord Edrahil only not as particular about everything.

[the Steward sighs]

**Beren**:   
Oh. --Now, when you say, "his uncle," you mean the late High King, right?   
Not Feanor? I've been assuming that's what you meant, but . . .

**Captain**:   
Since Feanor doesn't want to acknowledge the rest of his family, and since   
nobody ever sees him anyway, it's simpler just to distinguish them that way.

**Beren**:   
Why doesn't anyone see him? Is -- is he kept locked up?

**Warrior**:   
He refuses to mingle with us lesser beings. We don't merit his condescension.

**Third Guard**:   
--And he's a raving lunatic.

**Steward**:   
Even his most loyal followers have had to accept that the eldest son of Finwe   
inhabits a world entirely of his own construction which bears very little   
resemblance to the Arda that the rest of us have experienced. A small group   
-- not coincidentally the same that are most vehemently aggressive towards   
our lord -- persist in maintaining that it is merely the height of his genius   
and the depth of his griefs which keep him isolated in his meditations, beyond   
the ability of mere Eldar to comprehend, though one rather doubts that they   
fully believe it; but the rest have resigned themselves to the situation which   
obtained in Beleriand, where absent their respective lords, they acknowledge   
the headship of the High King and do as they please.

**Captain**:   
Except for the others -- sorry.

**Steward**: [austere]   
I was about to say -- Saving those who have attached themselves to the   
following of Felagund, or would, did he choose to engage in such rituals of   
authority, and not hold them empty forms and to no purpose.

**Beren**:   
Now I'm getting confused again. --Still.

**Steward**:   
Since we are dead, and no longer in Middle-earth, he asserts that it is   
futile for him to name himself King, and will not claim the title. Yet all   
award it to him regardless.

**Beren**:   
And people do what he says. Sounds like he's still King.

**Steward**:   
It grows complicated, because in the past decade those of his and his brothers'   
followings who came at the Sudden Flame have attached themselves to the   
following of Fingolfin -- yet, on the other hand, that is in essence the   
selfsame circumstance that prevailed in Beleriand. So now that he is here,   
many would resume their earlier ordering, -- yet again, he will not claim it,   
in part because he wishes no strife with his uncle, and it is a small trouble   
between them that so many -- even of the High King's own following -- incline   
to ask him first for advice, since Fingolfin has little inclination for   
anything saving the chess-table.

**Beren**:   
So he's pretending that he's just an ordinary citizen of the Halls like   
anyone else, and you're claiming that he's still the King and you're still his   
vassals -- and most people agree with you all. Even a bunch of the Feanorians.

**Steward**:   
Concisely and correctly put.

**Beren**: [not asking]   
That's why, isn't it? That's the real reason the Feanorians -- or some of   
them -- are so angry at him, isn't it. Because he's taken over again without   
even trying. Or wanting to.

**Captain**:   
Nail on the head, lad. The mind that comes up with short-notice plans for   
heisting a Silmaril or three isn't likely to rest content in idleness, and   
he can't help but tangle everyone else along after him, either for or against.   
That's the real issue -- that he's shaken everything up, and and not everyone   
is happy about it.

[pause. Wistful:]

--Would it have worked?

**Beren**:   
Sorry, what have worked--?

**Captain**:   
The plan -- could it have been possible to carry it out, do you think?

**Beren**:   
Oh.

[pause]

You know, I'm still not sure. I -- it was hard to observe much when we were   
there, we had to focus on what we were doing and, and . . . it was so strange,   
I -- I really couldn't tell you. Maybe. It certainly would have a better chance   
of working than a frontal assault, on account of how that would have no chance   
whatsoever.

**Captain**:   
You don't think so? Not even with a concerted effort by the Armies?

**Beren**: [earnestly]   
When the guy loses his temper, earthquakes happen. This is definitely not   
someone you want to be around indoors if you're getting him mad. --And the   
place was full of Balrogs!!!

**First Guard**:   
How many?

**Beren**: [thinking]   
Er, four?

[defensive]

--They take up a lot of space.

**Warrior**:   
One Balrog is too much. At a distance.

**Youngest Ranger**: [softly]   
I ran. I lost my bow.

**Ranger**:   
You threw it away to pick up Halmir.

**Youngest Ranger**: [bleak]   
It didn't do any good.

**Ranger**:   
That wasn't your fault. How many times has he told you that? Get over it!

[the Sindar Ranger looks away, biting his lip. Huan stretches over and licks   
his hand, begging for a nose-scratch, until he gets it. To Beren:]

I don't understand why you felt you had to go to Menegroth after all. Not   
after you recovered.

**Beren**: [shaking his head]   
Because I couldn't take care of myself, let alone Tinuviel.

**Ranger**:   
Why not?

**Beren**: [gesturing with his right arm]   
Like this? How much use is a one-handed ranger? I can't shoot, I can barely   
climb -- I can't even use a sword or a spear properly now--

**Ranger**: [trying to be helpful]   
But couldn't you have switched to your left hand? You couldn't use a shield,   
but if you were fast enough -- you must have trained with either hand in   
the past?

**Beren**: [almost shouting]   
Look, I couldn't do it, okay? I'm not bloody Maedhros, dammit! My balance   
was all off and I--

[he stops abruptly. There is a shocked silence]

**Captain**: [carefully]   
I don't remember anyone here saying a word about Feanor's eldest.

[Beren looks away, biting his lip]

Sounds like someone has, though.

**Beren**: [ragged]   
Things have been rough these past few weeks. She said -- and I tried but --   
and I said -- and--

[he breaks off]

**Captain**:   
Lad, it's more likely that someday they'll be comparing Maedhros to you.

[Beren snorts at that suggestion]

--You went into Angband of your own will. You didn't turn into a gibbering   
wreck at your first sight of Balrogs, plural. You got one of the Silmarils,   
and if circumstances hadn't ambushed you you'd have gotten all of them. You   
got out of Angband alive. --And you're human.

**Beren**:   
I was rescued. And I lost the stone. And I shouldn't have done it given   
what happened.

**Captain**:   
Regardless -- you recovered a Silmaril. None of us in the whole span of time   
since the Return can make such a claim. Whatever else happened after --   
nothing can take that away.

**Beren**:   
She did it all mostly -- and Huan. I can't claim any credit.

[Huan makes a grumbling sound and looks sad]

**Captain**:   
Would they have done it if it weren't for you?

[Beren rests his forehead on Huan's neck]

**Beren**: [muffled]   
I should have been in the cairn with Da and the others.

**Captain**: [musing]   
You know, you used to say that all the time, and I always wondered -- who   
were you thinking was going to bury you? Because you realize, if you'd been   
killed by the strike team, you wouldn't have been able to bury yourself.   
That never made sense to me.

[Silence --Beren straightens and gives him a Look]

--Well?

**Beren**: [annoyed]   
It was a figure of speech.

**Captain**: [nodding]   
Ah. I see. Metaphorical and so forth.

[Beren abruptly reaches out his hand]

**Beren**: [through gritted teeth]   
--Would you pass me that bottle?

[as he takes a pull from the canteen the Captain reaches over and jogs his   
elbow, hard]

**Captain**: [innocently]   
So is it real, or not?

[spluttering, Beren nods, wiping his face on his sleeve.]

**Ranger**:   
I don't know if that was a good idea, Sir.

**Captain**:   
No, I'm safe, he's feeling far too guilty to try anything back right now.

[Beren tries to say something, but is still choking too much to be intelligible]

**Ranger**:   
--That's what I meant, Sir.

[but Beren only grins, partly coughing and partly laughing now, as he braces the   
flask against his knee and works the cap back on with his remaining hand]

**Steward**: [ignoring the silliness]   
What is the reason behind the difficulties that are being raised over your   
remaining here with Her Highness of Doriath? Or have any been given?

**Beren**: [between coughs]   
Because I'm not supposed to be here. It's against the law. --Is there anyone   
else in history who's been declared outlaw by the Powers on both sides?

**Captain**:   
But you're not causing any trouble. --Unlike certain other residents.

[glances at the Steward]

Including, yes, ourselves.

**Beren**: [passing the flask back]   
Not like starting small indoor wars, no, but they were really put out with   
me -- with us -- for staking out a pillar in the hallway and refusing to move   
until she came.

**Soldier**:   
--Perhaps we wore out their patience for people holding vigils in the corridor?

**Captain**:   
But you waiting quietly in a corner doesn't seem to be much in the way of problems!

**Steward**:   
I doubt that that is presently the source of the difficulty, however much it   
might have negatively influenced attitudes towards Lord Beren from the outset.

**Beren**: [shrugs]   
It's the Law. They kept saying things like, "You're human, and you're dead --   
you don't belong in the world any more, go home!" I felt like a stray dog that   
had wandered into somebody's house to sit by the fire -- at least nobody threw   
any kindling-wood at me.

**Youngest Ranger**:   
That's like me.

**Beren**: [bewildered]   
Why you?

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Not on, like you -- but back.

[Beren still looks confused]

I don't want to be reborn in Beleriand.

[Beren just looks at him. A bit defensively:]

And it isn't that I'm afraid of what could happen to me -- I don't want to   
lose everyone, and forget.

[he glances around at them, a little embarrassed, but resolute. The other nine   
look sympathetic, but also a bit resigned.]

**Beren**:   
But that's the land that belongs to your people. You don't mind giving that up?

**Youngest Ranger**: [stubbornly]   
These are my people. This is where I belong.

**Warrior**: [trying to reassure]   
You know, I think you're worrying about nothing. I don't think they even know   
you're here. No one's said anything to you, have they?

**Captain**:   
Oh, they know all right. They're just choosing not to be aware of it, because   
then they don't have to do anything about it. --Like the time that Lieutenant   
Telumnar refused to accept that no, he could not in fact fire all the way across   
the Ginglith at that point and that the enemy patrols were well aware of it,   
until he'd wasted all his ammunition shooting over -- into -- the gorge, and   
then after you'd all let him panic for a bit everyone contributed a couple of   
arrows so that Supply wouldn't notice anything outside of Normal Use requisitions.

**Ranger**: [astounded]   
You knew about that? --We -- thought you didn't know, sir.

**Captain**:   
Of course I -- didn't know about it. If I had, I would have had to take Official   
Notice and say tiresome things about it. Instead, you got a useful problem-solving   
exercise and Telumnar got a valuable lesson, namely, don't assume that the same   
conditions of terrain apply everywhere in Arda, and listen to the people who've   
been dealing with it longer, even if they are younger than you.

[pause -- the Youngest Ranger mutters something that sounds suspiciously like   
"Told you so--"]

Too bad that he had to learn that lesson repeatedly. I swear the High King   
shoved him off on us to cut down on their own casualties. Who was it -- wasn't   
he the same idiot who got one of those foolish things in Dor-lomin and didn't   
realize it wouldn't last?

[deafening silence]

Oh. Don't tell me you were all stupid enough to do that? You're not supposed   
to have little bits of soot or whatever under your skin -- couldn't you have   
guessed that it would work its way out in a yen or less? I suppose Telumnar   
was the only one who made a fuss about the whole affair. It figures.

[to Beren]

What are those things called? The designs they do with pins?

**Beren**:   
--Tattoos? That was something they used to do in Hithlum. It was considered   
kind of barbaric by my great-grandparents' day.

**Captain**: [nods]   
That would be about the right time. Personally, I never enjoyed getting   
stitched up so much that I'd voluntarily have sharp pointed objects stuck in   
me for no good reason, but I suppose there's no accounting for -- stupidity.

[the others groan and roll their eyes. Enter two Elven shades, both sharing a   
strongly similar air of confidence, not arrogance per se, but an assumption of   
command and belonging, as well as a family resemblance. After glancing around   
and determining that no Powers are to be seen, they stride over to the group.   
The Ten rise respectfully, Beren following their example, but there are worried   
expressions on many faces as they come down off the hill.]

**Steward**: [bowing]   
My lords.

**Beren**: [whispering]   
--Who are they?

**Youngest Ranger**: [also whispering]   
Trouble.

[the newcomers stand with folded arms, giving the Ten looks of impatience,   
annoyance and dislike. Jude Law and Ethan Hawke (Gattaca) might be cast as   
these siblings.]

**Angrod**:   
What is going on? Has anyone got the least inkling of a clue? Or is this   
just the usual muddle of rumour, guesswork, and half-truths being passed   
off as information?

**Aegnor**: [staring at the Hill]   
And what in Arda is this mess? Are you trying to get yourselves thrown out   
after all?

**Captain**: [to Angrod]   
Your Highness, I take offense at that. My people have always been scrupulous   
in distinguishing between certainty, uncertainty, and conjecture.

**Angrod**: [nastily]   
For all the good it did you.

[Aegnor sees Beren and freezes]

**Captain**:   
Sir, for the respect I hold your brother, I will not challenge nor accept   
challenge of you, and you know it.

**Aegnor**: [flatly]   
Starless Grinding Ice. It's him.

**Angrod**:   
So where is my brother, then? --Who?

**Captain**:   
He went to find the King your uncle, but--

**Aegnor**: [snarl]   
--Him.

[Angrod turns in mid-snap and stops, open-mouthed, the look of exasperation   
changing to equal parts surprise & revulsion]

**Angrod**:   
Ah. What in the name of Morgoth is -- he --

[shaking his head in dismay]

--doing here?!

**Beren**:   
Um--

**Captain**: [giving no ground]   
He's dead.

**Angrod**:   
--He's also mortal, if that information has somehow also escaped your notice.

**Captain**: [pleasantly]   
Really? You don't say. --He's also married to your cousin, which is a   
complicating factor.

[stunned silence]

**Angrod**: [flat]   
Your sense of humour has not been improved by your too-brief sojourn here.

**Captain**:   
No jest at all, my lord.

[the brothers look at each other, still unsure, and then back at the Ten, and   
then at Beren, then at the Captain]

**Angrod**:   
What do you mean, "married"--?

**Captain**:   
What is usually meant by the word, of course.

**Aegnor**:   
You are joking.

**Captain**: [shaking his head]   
Far from it.

[Aegnor turns a blazing look on Beren]

**Angrod**:   
You mean to say this -- mortal -- dared to claim her after all that's transpired?

**Captain**:   
Milords, he can hardly be blamed for the accident of his birth.

**Angrod**:   
He can be blamed for everything else. --For killing my brother.

[Beren cringes; the two other Rangers silently move in in a protective angle,   
flanking him, ready to pull him back inside the safety of the group if it gets   
any uglier]

--For daring to set greedy and lustful hands on the noblest lady of our   
people -- if not black magic as well.

**Captain**: [sharply]   
--Now then, my lord. Whatever your feelings on the affair, you have no right   
to denigrate the love between the Beoring and her Highness.

**Angrod**: [grimly]   
They aren't like us. They change their mates as easily as we would our   
cloaks. If you're going to call the relations of Men "love," you might as   
well speak of the "weddings" of cattle!

[simultaneously with the other two replying, almost together, Aegnor clears his   
throat and his brother looks briefly shamefaced]

**Captain**:   
Unjust, sir, as well as untrue, and unworthy of--

**Beren**: [upset]   
--No, I love Tinuviel. Not just her voice, not just her body, not just her   
soul -- I love her. And I always will.

[quiet voice]

And I didn't want the King to die because of me, even though it was my fault.

**Angrod**: [addressing Beren for the first time]   
Then why didn't you kill yourself at once before involving him, and spare   
everyone the catastrophe of your existence?

[Beren flinches back and the Rangers step forward, protectively. Huan gets up   
from where he is lying on the hill and growls, a long, low, warning snarl, his   
hackles rising. The Princes are given pause.]

**Steward**:   
Your Highness, I believe you twain were seeking your brother --

**Angrod**:   
And I believe, sir, that you have no idea where he is.

**Steward**:   
As you were informed, he is seeking after your uncle -- and, one presumes,   
endeavoring to evade the wrath of Lady Amarie meanwhile.

[pause]

**Angrod**:   
Don't tell me Amarie's dead, too.

**Steward**:   
No: merely, as has been given to me to understand, intensely furious with my lord for having gotten himself killed and having left her -- in that order of precedence and not of chronology, needless to say -- and with everyone else remotely connected with those two incidents. I much misdoubt any more clemency upon -- us -- than was granted on that Night in Tirion.

[the brothers share a wary look]

I do recollect her words to you as well as I recall mine own receivéd reproaches -- as, surely, does she. Perhaps you would wish to fortify your minds in preparation of response, anticipating a resumption where we all left off, with I am sure additional grievances as yet unanticipated . . . because the Lady is said to be seeking the recourse of this place's Powers, and it's most likely that her path shall find her here.

[Aegnor gives a disgusted snort, but Angrod looks somewhat more uncertain -- it   
would seem that the memories of the fight are not diminished or pleasant. After   
a brief hesitation they pull themselves together and stride out -- but not without   
a parting shot:]

**Aegnor**: [over his shoulder, to Beren]   
--Edain.

[Beren recoils as if slapped, closing his eyes. There is a long silence after the   
sons of Finarfin have gone.]

**Beren**: [softly]   
They were my heroes when I was a kid.

**Captain**:   
It is not your fault, lad. They would be as angry if it were only us without   
you here.

[but there are uncertain looks exchanged around them.]

**Beren**:   
How did they know who I was?

**Captain**: [half-smile]   
You're so obviously a Beoring to anyone who's known your people. The Princes   
knew your father, uncle and cousins, and your grandfather, and -- And the rest   
of your family, going way back. There's no mistaking you.

[sighing]

Not to mention that -- unfortunately -- there isn't anyone else left that   
you could be.

**Beren**: [nodding]   
They knew all my ancestors -- and then they died fighting for our country -- and   
I lose it all, and get him killed. Actually, considering -- they were a lot more   
polite than they could have been. Considering.

**Steward**:   
It -- is more complicated than that. --Considerably.

[The Captain gives the Steward a long, meaningful look over Beren's head]

**Beren**:   
How? What could be worse than that?

**Steward**: [ignoring the Captain's silent plea]   
Our lord's brother -- that is, Prince Aegnor -- was once in love with a lady   
of your people.

[Beren looks from him to the others, realizes that this is completely serious]

**Beren**: [stunned]   
A mortal?

[the Elf-lord nods]

What happened? Did she die?

**Steward**:   
Not then.

**Beren**:   
So -- what was it? --Did her family forbid it?

**Steward**:   
Whether they would have objected or no, it never reached the point where   
such a question would have arisen.

**Beren**:   
Did his? But -- their father wasn't here, he didn't come over with you, so who?

[The youngest Ranger starts to say something but doesn't quite manage before Beren   
starts talking again, and subsides]

Wait -- Finrod was head of the House -- H--He didn't tell them they couldn't,   
don't say that--

**Steward**:   
No one forbade it. It was broken off voluntarily, without outside   
interference -- saving, perhaps, the influence of the Enemy.

**Beren**:   
Morgoth broke up their relationship?

**Steward**: [shaking his head]   
I was speaking metaphysically. Only in the sense of the wider Marring,   
destroying and damaging things in the world before they have a chance . . .

[pause]

**Beren**:   
You're keeping something back. Why are you playing guessing games with me?

[he looks from one to another of them -- they don't look away, but none of the   
Ten can bring themselves to answer. Finally:]

**Steward**:   
She was a Beoring.

**Beren**: [frowning]   
Someone from Dorthonion?

**Captain**:   
Someone of your House.

**Beren**: [shock]   
Who?

**Captain**:   
It was a long time ago, lad. Before you were born.

**Beren**:   
Not -- not Ma? I know my parents married kind of late, but -- I would have   
-- they would have -- someone would have said something over the years--

**Steward**: [quickly]   
No, no -- not Emeldir. Long before you were born.

**Beren**:   
Then -- why -- I don't understand -- if no one -- why?

**Captain**:   
Because Aegnor, I'm sorry, is a--

**Steward**: [cutting him off]   
--Don't.

**Captain**:   
You don't know what I was going to say.

**Steward**:   
Either "coward" or "fool," and the matter is significantly more complicated   
than that. --Am I not right?

**Captain**: [shrugs]   
Well, actually, "--blithering idiot."

**Steward**:   
Near enough.

[to Beren]

--It can be of minimal consolation, but -- I did not enjoy being rebuked   
by milord either.

**Beren**:   
The Prince yelled at you too? Why?

**Steward**: [bleakly]   
Because I made a jocular comment to the effect that, if matters in Middle-earth   
were anything to go by, his attractiveness, far from being diminished by having   
left and come back, would be enhanced by the exotic aura of travel and danger   
-- a renowned adventurer, instead of merely "one of Feanor's youngest half-   
nephews," -- and that eventually, once we were let out, the intrinsic interest   
would outshine the tarnish of rebellion and could hardly fail to impress   
whichever lady he wished to win. Lord Aegnor was not amused. As you might put   
it, I "had my ears ripped good" for it. He did apologize, once he realized that   
I had no notion of why he was so infuriated, but the apology was nearly as   
distressing as the offense.

**Captain**: [earnest]   
I would have told you, if I hadn't been sworn to secrecy.

**Steward**.   
I don't blame you.

**Captain**:   
I wish you wouldn't blame him, either.

**Steward**: [dispassionate]   
The issue is resolved. I understand why he chose to keep it entirely within   
the family and to seal all the intelligence files on the affair even after the   
deaths of his Highness and Lady Andreth. I simply disagree. I am well aware   
that at least a modicum of my disagreement stems from personal discomfiture at   
having been kept in the dark, and the King is well aware of my views on the   
matter. End of subject.

[The Captain looks away in distress]

**Beren**:   
Wait a minute -- you mean my great-aunt Andreth? An'-the-Deep-Minded?

[silent nods of affirmation]

**Beren**:   
The Prince was engaged to my aunt?

**Captain**:   
Well, not betrothed per se. He lost his nerve before it got that far.

**Beren**:   
Prince Aegnor -- and my aunt?

**Captain**: [nods]   
Just as true as the first time you said it, lad.

**Beren**:   
But--

[shakes his head]

How come I never heard about it?

**Captain**:   
It wasn't common knowledge. They were both very private people and unlike   
yourselves, no one ever made a public spectacle of their relationship.

**Beren**:   
But someone must of known. --People gossip. Stuff gets talked about.

**Steward**:   
I did not know, and I was contemporary to it, though indeed not present for   
the most part. I should guess that some few of the Lady's close kin were   
aware, and that such as were, chose not to speak of it for consideration of   
her feelings. After all, what was to be said? No promises were made, hence   
none broken, no public disrespect given, it was a private matter -- at least   
at the point beyond which it did not progress -- and for many reasons, not   
least of which I hazard the uncertainty of what, in the end, should be said,   
I guess that few should wish to think on it, let alone discuss the matter.

**Beren**: [dangerous]   
--What reasons?

[silence -- the Steward looks towards the Captain]

**Captain**: [shaking his head, sadly]   
That's your department, not mine.

**Steward**: [sighing]   
The complication of vassal to lord, your House being liege to the Princes as   
well as to King Finrod, and all that that entails -- which might have yet been   
insufficient, had Lord Aegnor broken betrothal, and that publicly, so that your   
great-grandfather should have been compelled to address the matter in open   
counsel, or seek redress for his sister's disdaining even to the King's own   
court. But since that did not happen, far easier to let it be.

**Beren**:   
That's one reason.

[pause]

**Steward**:   
The other -- which is all the rest -- is -- Time. That the Prince should continue,   
in outward seeming at the least, unchanged, while the Lady endured the encroachments   
of her mortality, would surely have silenced any whose hearts urged them to protest   
otherwise. --Or so I must hazard, in absence of evidence.

[Beren is completely quiet. Abruptly he sits down on the floor.]

**Captain**:   
Are you all right?

**Beren**:   
No.

[he gives a short laugh]

So -- after all that -- I show up, too dumb to figure it out for myself, or to   
get the hints the universe kept throwing at me, that, hey, this is not possible,   
deal with it, and -- no wonder he didn't think it was the best thing for either   
of us. But -- what d'ye know, I had to go and prove him right.

[fiercely]

I should have died at Aeluin.

[Huan whines and paws at his knee]

**Captain**: [aside]   
--Damn all oaths to Angband!

**Beren**: [ragged]   
I know. --The world is a horrible place.

**Captain**:   
You don't need to tell us that.

**Beren**:   
It's like -- every time I think it can't get worse, -- it does. I -- I --

[he slumps sideways, bracing unsteadily on his elbow, letting his head hang down.   
Alarmed, the Captain kneels and tries to lift him upright, but Beren only leans   
against him, unable to support himself]

**Captain**:   
Beren--

**Beren**: [looking up but not tracking at all.]   
Sir--?

**Captain**: [very worried]   
Can you see me?

**Beren**: [thinly]   
Not well. . . . It feels like I'm going into shock.

**Captain**:   
But you can't go into shock, now--

[to the Steward]

--Can he?

**Beren**: [closing his eyes]   
It's like -- everything's not real. Or I'm not real. And I just want to go away.

[pause]

And I'm cold.

**Guard**: [appalled]   
He's fading.

**Warrior**:   
But how? He's already dead!

**Steward**: [quietly]   
Because this Shore is not where he is called.

**Captain**: [urgent]   
Beren -- look at me. You have to stay focused. You can't give in. It isn't that bad.

**Ranger**:   
That's right. --We're here. We shan't let you fade.

**Captain**: [pleading]   
We promised Himself we'd look after you -- you don't want to make a liar   
out of me, now, do you?

**Warrior**: [very hesitant]   
But -- if -- since he's mortal -- and -- humans are meant to move on, after   
they're dead -- ought we to interfere with the laws of nature?

**Huan**:   
[sharp bark]

**Third Guard**: [savagely, grabbing him by the arm]   
Don't even think of such a thing! How can you say that?

[he seems about to hit the other Elf, who is just as upset and does not even try   
to resist, before the Steward motions them apart]

**Steward**: [very stern]   
Enough. The question has to be asked. --And the answer is of course yes. One   
presumes--

[looking around the hall]

Yes. We'll bring him over to the fountain, such as it is.

[he kneels and picks Beren up despite the latter's initial, unsuccessful attempt   
to stand of his own strength, and Huan leaning in on them]

**Warrior**: [worried]   
But will that work?

**Captain**:   
Why not?

**Warrior**:   
He's . . .

[stops]

**Captain**:   
Right, then.

[to the Steward]

Can you manage?

**Steward**:   
Of course.

[followed by the others, he carries Beren over to the side of the rectangular   
basin and kneels by the edge]

A cloak, if you please.

[the Warrior hands his over at once, before anyone else can, and the Steward   
tucks it around Beren like a survival blanket, not putting him down. The Captain   
looks at the wall fountain with displeasure -- it's very quiet, with hardly a   
ripple to be heard.]

**Captain**: [exasperated]   
What's the good of a falls that doesn't make any noise?

**Ranger**:   
No idea, sir.

**Youngest Ranger**:   
I think it's supposed to be subtly aesthetic, actually.

**Captain**:   
Well, do something about it, Lieutenant.

[he turns back to Beren and the others, leaving his subordinates to it. The   
Rangers look at each other, the Youngest seeming dismayed. His colleague shakes   
his head and shrugs -- he sighs, squares his shoulders and begins to study the   
water sculpture with a resigned expression. Almost instantly the stone begins to   
reform, changing from a tall sheet of low grooves to a mass of leaning boulders   
and an escarpment blending out of the surrounding wall, which causes the water   
to cascade down with considerably more vigour and consequent noise. Except for   
the fact that all the stone is the same even gray and there is no moss or other   
plant life, it looks quite realistic (except for the context.)]

**Captain**:   
Good job.

**Youngest Ranger**: [woodenly]   
Yes, sir.

**Captain**:   
Oh, you're not still worrying about them noticing you, are you? --I'll tell   
Lady Vaire that I'm responsible for the mess and your name won't come into   
it at all.

**Youngest Ranger**:   
She'll know that you're not telling the truth--

**Captain**: [interrupting with a touch of impatience]   
--It is the truth. I made the decision, gave you a legitimate order and you   
only carried it out, ergo I am responsible.

[his subordinate does not look totally convinced -- the Captain rises and takes   
him by the arm]

Look, do you really think we're going to desert you at this point, hand you   
over without a struggle to the authorities if they want to send you back?

[looks meaningfully at Beren]

Do you think His Majesty would allow it?

**Youngest Ranger**: [small smile]   
No, sir.

**Captain**:   
Good lad. Let your elders do the worrying -- that's what we get paid for.

**Youngest Ranger**: [old joke]   
You get paid?

**Captain**: [claps him on the shoulder]   
Get everyone on point -- set a perimeter, I don't like the feel of things.

[to the Steward]

--Unless you disagree?

**Steward**: [shaking his head]   
A very good idea. Now, I've had a moment for thought -- go find the King, and   
bring him here--

**Captain**:   
--Yes. Of course.

**Steward**:   
--and take Huan.

**Captain**:   
Ah, for tracking, of course--

**Steward**:   
Not only. Cavalry equals speed.

**Captain**: [shocked]   
Ride Huan?

**Steward**:   
If he didn't mind before in the same cause, I much misdoubt he'll object now.   
--Do you, boy?

**Huan**: [bouncing in place]   
[short impatient barks]

**Captain**: [shaking head]   
This still seems wrong. I do apologize--

[he swings up onto Huan's back, and the Hound takes off like a racehorse. The   
remaining Eldar spread out into a loose circle, fanning out from the waterfall,   
one of the Rangers scaling up to take a watchpost on top of the rock formation,   
their expressions worried, but taking the task too seriously to let concern   
distract them. The fall splashes quite a lot, just like a real one.]

**Beren**: [shakily]   
You're getting wet.

**Steward**: [nods]   
So are you.

**Beren**: [fretful]   
How?

**Steward**: [same calming tone throughout]   
As I understand it, each thing which exists in the world -- not merely   
ourselves -- has both its outward and material being, and its inward and   
permanent essence, the which differs from the former chiefly in that most   
material fact of matter. And we, that are the essences or principles of   
ourselves, may no less perceive, and encounter, those essences of other   
things, even as in life we did, though through the intermediation of our   
respective bodies, with greater or lesser tangibility, as the ideas of   
those things are held more strongly, or weakly, in our thought. --Such at   
least is the King's theory concerning the facts, which are themselves   
undeniable.

**Beren**:   
Is that why -- why everything's sort of vague to me? Because humans don't   
have insight the way you do, and there's no surfaces?

**Steward**:   
Perhaps. Perhaps not. It might well be that your spirit has been so damaged   
that, even as one cannot well sense or act when gravely injured, you have   
not the strength to focus your perception upon our surroundings.

**Beren**:   
Or perhaps I'm too dumb to think about things properly.

**Steward**:   
I very much doubt that. You grasped my explanation well enough -- which   
places you signally ahead of many another resident here.

[puts his hand in the basin]

Do you want some? Even if it is merely the idea of water.

[gives him a drink, obliging him to pay attention and cooperate a little]

**Beren**:   
You're trying to keep me distracted.

**Steward**:   
Yes.

**Beren**:   
You taught me the Old Tongue. And made me memorize "The Fall of the Noldor."

**Steward**: [nods]   
--Otherwise known as "that really long depressing Quenya poem."

**Beren**:   
I'm afraid you wasted your efforts, sir -- I can't remember any of it now.

**Steward**:   
It served its purpose.

**Beren**:   
Every time I started losing it you drilled me on verb endings and stuff until   
I was too angry and frustrated to panic.

**Steward**:   
Do not overcredit me: it was not solely altruism on my part. Such exercises   
served as distraction not only for yourself. --More water?

**Beren**: [shaking his head]   
I don't belong here.

**Steward**:   
But you are here. Therefore you must have some purpose to accomplish here.

**Beren**:   
I'm not supposed to be. I shouldn't have stayed. That's what he said.

**Steward**:   
Lord Namo?

**Beren**:   
All of them. I stayed because Tinuviel said to wait. And I did. And now   
everyone wants me to go.

**Steward**:   
Not the Princess, surely?

**Beren**:   
No . . .

**Steward**:   
Nor us.

[pause]

**Beren**: [very quietly]   
Lord Edrahil?

**Steward**:   
Yes, Beren?

**Beren**:   
Do you miss your family?

[pause]

**Steward**:   
Indeed yes. Though whether they in turn regret my absence, I could not   
dare to say.

**Beren**:   
I haven't belonged to the world of Men since my father was killed. I don't   
have a place in Middle-earth where I belong. I destroyed the one other place   
that was a home for my people. I destroyed Doriath. I should have died where   
I was born.

**Steward**: [gently reminding]   
Luthien is your family, now.

**Beren**: [closing his eyes]   
And I killed her too. She doesn't need me. You've told me how beautiful   
Valinor is . . . she could have all that forever. She doesn't belong in here,   
being harangued yet again because of me. If I was gone, she'd be safe--

**Steward**: [sharp]   
Beren. "Carnamirie."

**Beren**: [reaction]   
"Red-jeweled."

**Steward**:   
That is the word. What does it mean?

**Beren**:   
--"Rowan."

**Steward**:   
"Yallume."

**Beren**: [uncertain]   
"Cup"--?

**Steward**:   
That's "yulme." --"Yallume."

**Beren**:   
"Finally" --?

**Steward**:   
Correct. --"Roquen."

**Beren**:   
That's easy, "horse" -- no, "rider."

**Steward**:   
"Maiwe."

**Beren**:   
Eh. Not an easy one . . . something to do with the sea. --"Gull."

**Steward**:   
"Coronar."

**Beren**:   
"A year." --One of our years, not a Great Year.

**Steward**:   
"Tindomerel."

**Beren**: [smiles a little]   
"Nightingale."

**Steward**:   
"Macar."

**Beren**: [snorts]   
--Not any more. Kind of hard to wield an "eket" with the wrong "mat."

**Steward**: [dispassionate correction]   
"Ma" -- "hand," singular. --"Maruvan."

**Beren**:   
"They'll bide here--"

**Steward**:   
Not "they" . . .

**Beren**:   
"I will --"

[looks up at him]

You're cheating.

**Steward**:   
Of course. "Harma."

[pause]

**Beren**:   
"Something valuable."

**Steward**:   
"Estel."

[pause]

**Beren**:   
"Trust."

[very deliberately:]

--"Vorima."

[The Steward looks away and does not answer, so Beren does:]

"Faithful."

**Steward**: [successfully hiding embarrassment]   
--"Hekilo."

**Beren**:   
"Exile." --"Vanda."

[he wins this round too]

"Oath."

**Steward**: [clipped tone]   
"Ambar."

**Beren**:   
"Doom."

[pause - the next word is hard to pronounce]

"Na--Nwalme."

**Steward**: [brief look of exasperation]   
"Torture." --"Helca."

**Beren**:   
"Ice." --"Nolmo"

**Steward**:   
"Wise one." --"Nuruhuine."

**Beren**:   
"Threat of death."

[pause. Narrow look:]

--"Axor."

[the Steward closes his eyes.]

"Axor."

**Steward**:   
Beren--

**Beren**: [raising an eyebrow]   
"Axor"--?

**Steward**: [quellingly]   
--"Hina."

**Beren**:   
"Child."

[pause]

--Like in "Eruhini."

[hesitant]

--"Nosse?"

[pause]

**Steward**: [softly]   
"Nukumna" -- for I am indeed humbled, that you would claim me as your kin.

[brusque again]

--Unless it was a different word you meant?

**Beren**: [small grin]   
"Elye."

**Steward**: [shaking head]   
Hmph. If "even you" cannot refrain from subtlety, the world's come to a   
sad pass. --"Arato."

[pause]

It shouldn't be that hard: the element "ar" is present in many words, and   
the word itself more than once in "Noldolante" . . .

**Beren**: [losing this round]   
--"Hero."

[rallying]

"Elye."

**Steward**:   
You've grown repetetive, I'm afraid. --"Selma."

**Beren**:   
"Intransigent."

[pause]

--"Atandil"

**Steward**: [dry]   
If you're going to be forward enough to, as you would say, "cobble together"   
your own Quenya words, then you ought as well remember that the first and   
last rule is the taste of the word when uttered forth. "Atandur" is far   
more euphonious.

**Beren**: [shrugs]   
Both true. Friendship and service. I'm winning, by the way. --"Faila."

**Steward**: [still more acerbic]   
"Magnanimous." --The arrogance that could claim victory in a spoken duel with   
a trained bard after less than a half-season's rough teaching quite sends the   
mind reeling. --"Faire."

**Beren**:   
"Ghost." That's both of "met" though -- "t" because it's two of us. Like two   
hands. But the other way would be true, too -- "me," all of us.

**Steward**:   
I thought you didn't remember any of it.

**Beren**:   
Me too. It just keeps bringing more of it, like when you try to remember all   
the verses of a song. --I'm still ahead. "Axor."

[The Steward flicks some water at his face]

Non-verbal response -- I win. "Axor."

**Steward**:   
"Bones" -- Holy stars, Beren, you're incorrigible.

[snorts]

--Well, such cleverness should find "The Fall of the Noldor" no challenge at all.

**Beren**: [caught]   
Ah--

**Steward**:   
Or -- we could move to declensions instead?

**Beren**:   
That isn't any better. At least the "Noldolante" rhymes. Sort of.

**Steward**:   
Declensions "sort of" rhyme, too.

**Beren**:   
Nooo.

**Steward**:   
Then "The Really Long Depressing Quenya Poem" it is. Alternating lines?   
Having lost the last round -- though I do not recall ever declaring a   
contest -- I suppose I must in forfeit lead off--

[commotion -- Huan dashes in, barking, with passengers.]

--At last--

**Beren**:   
"Yallume."

**Steward**:   
Indeed.

[all three skid over to where they are sitting, with emergency dismounts, to kneel   
on either side of the two, Huan crowding in with as much concern until the Captain   
draws his head over and rubs his nose. Finrod reaches out to take hold of Beren's   
shoulder.]

**Finrod**:   
What's wrong?

[Beren tries to answer, shakes his head]

He said you were fading -- Beren, can you tell me what's the matter?

[Beren tries again to find words]

**Beren**: [whispering]   
"Rukina."

**Finrod**: [puzzled]   
--Wrecked?

[Beren nods]

Why?

[No answer -- he looks to the Steward, who looks him in the eyes, challengingly]

**Steward**:   
In general? Being dead; being driven half-mad by Oath, Silmaril, torture,   
poison, injury and guilt; being treated as an unwelcome trespasser with no   
right to exist here yet again. In specific -- your brothers came by, and   
were less-than-civil.

**Finrod**: [straightening, shocked]   
My brothers--?!

**Captain**: [shrugs]   
It was mostly Angrod who did the shouting; Aegnor largely confined himself   
to glaring and unintelligible sounds of disgust.

**Steward**:   
You're exaggerating again -- no one actually raised voices, merely indulged   
in caustic reproach and derogatory comment.

**Finrod**:   
Beren -- you -- you mustn't -- It isn't any of your fault, truly.

**Beren**: [quietly]   
I understand.

**Finrod**:   
They've been rather -- protective, of me. It's unfortunate you were in the   
way. You really mustn't--

**Beren**: [interrupting]   
--No, Sir -- I understand. All of it. --About the Prince, and Da's Granda's   
sister.

[Finrod gives his commanders stern looks]

**Steward**: [unfazed]   
It seemed rather late to be worrying about Aegnor's dignity, as it most   
evidently concerned Lord Aegnor not at all.

**Captain**:   
And "need-to-know" could most definitely be proven, in my judgment. Edrahil   
thought he deserved the truth -- and I concurred.

**Beren**: [outraged & hurt -- it finally breaks loose]   
--Sir, couldn't you have told me? After everything?

**Finrod**: [stricken]   
I --

**Beren**:   
How could you have kept that from me?

**Finrod**: [pleading]   
It wasn't mine to tell.

[defensive]

Besides -- it -- it wouldn't have made any difference.

**Beren**: [shaking head]   
It would. It would have helped me understand.

[silence]

**Finrod**: [very quiet]   
I'm sorry.

[Beren nods, but does not speak]

W--where are my siblings now?

**Steward**:   
I invoked the threat of Amarie and they made themselves scarce, though I could   
not say for how long it will suffice.

[Finrod winces again]

My lord, he needs her. She is what binds him to this world, and nothing else.   
You must bring the Princess here as quickly as possible, while we bend our   
arts to keeping Beren within this Circle. Else he'll fade, and all shall have   
been for naught.

**Finrod**:   
Beren -- please -- forgive me, I truly never meant to cause you distress --   
I never thought--

**Captain**: [stern]   
Sire. What purpose is served by troubling the Beoring with your regrets? You   
only make it harder for him.

[Beren starts to say something, but doesn't get the chance]

**Steward**:   
My lord -- you know what you must do, as we shall hold to our task.

[Finrod, his expression of extreme distress, nods abruptly and rises, backing   
Huan out by his collar like a horse and mounting up without further discussion.   
Before they ride off, however, he looks over his shoulder at them]

**Finrod**:   
The waterfall was an excellent idea. But music also worked well before. Will   
you add that, while I go?

[He gives the Steward a meaningful Look]

**Steward**:   
I have not played since before we left the City, my lord.

**Finrod**:   
I know. --That's why I asked, not ordered.

[they match stares again for a moment, before the Steward bows his head. To Beren:]

Beor. You will stay until we fetch your lady hither. That is an order.

**Beren**: [crooked grin]   
Yes, Sir.

[Finrod gives him a worried smile, and Huan, impatient, barks a warning before   
charging forward. The Steward shakes his head a little, seeming distracted, and   
the Captain takes Beren from him quickly, not carelessly, with much more experience   
moving casualties.]

**Beren**: [awkward]   
Did you . . . have to say that to his Majesty? I . . . I could have coped.

**Captain**:   
I am sorry, Beren, I did not mean to embarrass you. One cannot mindspeak   
here -- no, that isn't it--

[looks to the Steward, who has manifested a harp somewhat different in design   
from the King's, and is frowning abstractedly at it]

Can you explain?

**Steward**:   
All is thought here, and mind, and will, so one cannot speak otherwise. One   
can remain silent, refuse answer, but one cannot speak to some and not to all   
who are present. Nor can one conceal the truth, to most, by speaking falsely   
knowingly -- certainly not to the Lord and Ladies of this Hall.

[runs a simple pentatonic scale up and down the strings]

My invention is sadly worn.

[plucks a minor, unresolved chord]

I cannot think of any but sad songs lately -- I fear that would serve us little.

**Captain**: [serious]   
There's strength in grief. It's caring for nothing that's truly fatal.

**Beren**:   
My lord . . . give me your sorrow.

**Steward**:   
Will it not weigh your heart past enduring?

**Beren**:   
In exchange for my own. It can't be heavier.

[the Captain anxiously brushes his hair back from his eyes, and touches some   
water to his temples]

**Steward**:   
That seems but a poor bargain. How will it aid you?

**Beren**:   
Why did you make me tell you all about the fall of Dorthonion? Repeatedly?

[cuts him off before he can answer]

--And don't say it was all for my own good. You already admitted otherwise   
just now -- remember?

**Steward**:   
I remember also that you must always have the last word. --You must tell   
me if the balance is unequal and the sum too great before the scale tips   
and the beam crashes.

[without further ado he starts playing -- despite his disclaiming, it would be   
hard for any mortal listener to tell he's out of practice and in an inventive   
drought. Since there's no transcription of what early bardic performance actually   
consisted of, I'm conceiving it in the manner of extant English settings of poetry   
from the 12 and 1300s -- free-flowing and varied according to the length and nature   
of each line.]

--Oft should I, alone each dawn,   
my cares lament: now living is none   
that I to him the mood of my heart   
dare disclose. I know full well   
that for a leader 'tis lordly strength   
that he his locked counsels shall fastly bind,   
hold close his coffered thought, howso other he would.   
--No more may heartwearied Doom stand defying,   
nor shall troubled musings bear with them help--   
for they most earnest of others' respect, tears oft   
in their breast's chamber shall bind away fast.

So should I oft my soul make safe--   
beggared by care, bereft of my House,   
far from my home -- fettering my soul   
since I left him, my lord gold-joyful, generous,   
in earth's dark depths -- and I unwillingly,   
winterweary, was bound hither over the waves.   
Where might I find, living, friend or lord now   
who shall in meadhall name me their own?   
or my friendlessness would turn to friendship,   
win me to joyfulness? --This do we know   
how cruel a comrade is sorrow to him   
whose true friends have all been taken,   
wandering in exile -- worthless the worked gold,   
ice-cold his inmost thought, worthless the flowering fields.

He minds him ever how all joy is broken,   
for that he knows that his joyful lord   
and his dear counsel shall long be forgoing:   
then sorrow and sleep ever together   
pitiful, solitary, oft are binding   
him in mind that he his liege-lord   
clasps and kisses and on knee lays   
hand and head, as he did betimes,   
vassal in spear-hall, at the gift-dealing--   
yet, then awakened, the joyless man   
sees before him the fallow waves,   
as sleet and snow and hail fall mingled.

Then all the heavier be heart's wounds,   
sorely yearning after. Sorrow's made new again,   
when comrades in mind and thought return:   
he greets, joyfilled, earnestly looks on them--   
yet swiftly their souls swim oft away,   
floating forth, nor bring their spirits   
the cheerful harpsong. Cares are made new   
to him that shall send ever anew   
over waves binding the wearied soul.

For this I may not in this world think   
of aught that my heart might darken not   
when I name noble lives all gone thence,   
brave horsemen and vassals. So Middle-earth   
and all upon it daily fades and fails.   
For this a warrior may not name him wise   
who has not dwelt winters in that worlds-realm.

--Such a one knows how soul-shaking shall be   
when all this world's wealth stands bestrewn   
as now likewise upon Middle-earth   
the wind bewails where walls are standing   
ice-enameled, ruined the fortresses,   
fallen the wine-halls, dead the defenders,   
lying by walls. Some the war took from us,   
faring in faroff ways: that one fed the carrion fowl   
far from harbour, to that one the ice-grey wolf   
dealt out death, -- that one the faithful friend   
hid in earthen grave, mourning for lord.

[He stops the strings abruptly.]

Now you must give me yours, in return.

[pause]

**Beren**: [whispering]   
I can't, sir -- you've stolen it from me already, and I don't know how to   
get it apart from yours now.

**Steward**:   
Forgive my theft.

**Beren**: [shakes his head]   
You've repaid it and then some, given it winged words where it crawled in   
the weeds, or slept, earthbound.

**Steward**: [brokenly]   
. . . I thank you, my lord, for such generous praise . . .

[silence -- the Guard hesitantly puts a hand on the Steward's shoulder, endeavoring   
to comfort him. In the background, where a slight change in illumination reveals one   
of the doors, a dim figure is standing, listening, but we cannot see who it is in   
the shadows.]

* * *

**SCENE III.i**

  
  


**Gower**:   
--That spirit that didst hold resolve   
'neath lowering disapprobatory love   
and force of fear, and fear of force,   
imposéd of greed and by remorse   
unchecked--   
-- let it none astound   
that still shall hold unto her ground   
stronger far than foundation's stone   
or spell-set servitude that shall groan   
even as growl -- mightier than trees   
enwound, withstanding even these   
with love that weaveth fast as roots   
deep underground--   


[Elsewhere -- a circular room, much smaller than the great hall, but still quite   
large and with that spacious quality of certain medieval buildings, like the chapter   
house in Wells Cathedral. Around it between columns are hung a series of tapestries --   
these are not like the ones we are used to, there being no visible stitches, and   
although they are very dim and dark like charcoal sketches now, there is a shimmering   
quality to the material that differentiates it strongly from the stone.]

[Chairs are set in a smaller circle in the middle of the room, around a light   
which consists of a low, glowing basin in the form of a wide shallow stone bowl   
filled with silver liquid. Again, understated elegance is the theme here. The   
chairs are radically different --each one is unique and doesn't necessarily go   
with the others or the room -- except the love-seat occupied by the Lord and Lady   
of the Halls. There are three empty places, between Orome and Vaire's left; Aule   
is to Namo's right. Luthien is sitting on a footstool-sort-of-thing with her hands   
clasped in her lap, looking sulky and bored, between Irmo and Orome, while across   
from her Namo massages his temples while Vaire pats him on the knee.]

**Luthien**: [patronizing]   
I've heard it all before, you know, you're not saying anything in the   
slightest bit new.

**Orome**:   
And the source doesn't make any difference to you?

**Luthien**:   
Why should it?

[in the resulting silence she hops up and begins walking around the perimeter of   
the chamber, looking at the tapestries, while the Powers exchange quizzical looks]

Oh -- that looks almost like --

[she touches the tapestry nearest her and the surface brightens and shimmers into   
motion -- she starts back]

--it is the woods near home. And there's Mom and Dad -- and me -- when I was   
very little . . .

[she trails off]

**Vaire**:   
Yes, we thought you'd find it more comfortable here, surrounded by happier   
recollections and familiar images.

**Luthien**:   
Honestly! If you'd paid attention, you'd realize that home is the last place   
to have any positive associations for me right now.

**Vaire**: [edged patience]   
Child, you're being a most unpleasant brat, right now.

[Luthien shrugs]

**Luthien**:   
Am I? I've fought my way halfway across the known world, and to the ends of   
Arda. The people I should have been able to trust and rely on have betrayed me,   
and help has come only from where I least expected it and had no right to it.   
And we're at an impasse, because you're not hearing what I'm saying. I'm beyond   
fed up at this point--

[there is a loud disturbance from the hallway beyond -- baying like a hunting pack   
that has caught a scent, followed almost immediately by the flying form of Huan   
coming in at a run with Finrod crouched over his neck, taking the ring of chairs   
like a steeplechaser (fitting a tight half-stride over the pool of liquid light)   
and bounding across the other side to where she is standing amazed. The Hound drops   
down into the half-crouch of a predator, not the straight halt of a horse, and   
Finrod leans over, ignoring the astonished Powers]

**Finrod**:   
He needs you.

[her expression changes from surprise to fear: he reaches down, she catches his   
hand and swings up behind him. They exit in the same spectacular way as before,   
without any word or expression of apology]

**Orome**: [outraged]   
Huan!!!

[brief silence -- sighs and headshaking]

**Namo**:   
I will be so glad when this yen is up.

**Vaire**: [troubled]   
Darling, have you considered the possibility that that might not end it? It   
wasn't an either-or, if you recall, but only an ultimatum.

**Namo**: [sitting up straight and pounding his fist on the arm of their bench]   
No. I am not putting up with this until the end of the world. Nia is going   
to take responsibility for them one way or another. I have enough problems   
as it is.

**Irmo**:   
Do you think they're coming back, or should somebody go fetch her? --Little   
Luthien, I mean.

[Namo lifts his hands helplessly]

**Namo**:   
This is even more in flux than the last crisis. Not that they're anywhere on   
the same scale, of course.

**Vaire**: [thoughtful frown, aside]   
I wonder . . .

**Namo**:   
Give it a bit. I can do with a short break.

[he manifests his teacup and leans back, shaking his head.]

**Aule**: [to Vaire]   
So how's that new system working out for you? I've got some more ideas for   
setting markers in to make retrieval and matching easier.

**Vaire**: [brightening right up]   
Oh, it's perfect! We're wasting so much less energy this way, and we haven't   
had a data snarl since last equinox. If you've got any ways to improve the   
filing process we'd be very appreciative, but that isn't really critical at   
present. But -- some of my helpers were wondering how that project for enhancing   
resolution was coming along . The Spinners who tested the prototypes were very   
positive about the finer quality of the energy streams.

[their colleagues can't help smiling at the focus of these two enthusiasts].

**Aule**:   
Unfortunately, we're still having storage issues -- it isn't a matter of the   
process itself, you understand -- the difficulty lies in the fact that the raw   
format tends to want to bind back together again if it isn't used right away.

**Vaire**:   
Oh, that's too bad. --What a pity it can't be applied retroactively as   
well . . .

**Orome**: [leaning back with his cynical attitude, looks around at the empty chairs]   
So, as usual, it's left to those of us with an attention span longer than a   
single season to take up the slack. Though I'm surprised Nia isn't here yet.

**Irmo**: [frowning]   
Yes, so am I. You don't think Vana's coming back, then?

**Orome**:   
Considering that she said her sister had the right idea, even if she didn't   
have the same reasons for it, and that if she had to hear one more round of   
this she was going to be "screaming and breaking things too," I really hope   
she doesn't. You know her forte's making things, not dealing with the messes   
afterwards.

**Namo**: [over his mug]   
You have to be fair, though -- the only reason Yavanna's not here is that   
she's too personally involved with the situation.

**Aule**: [startled]   
What? Did you say my wife's back?

**Orome**:   
Calm down -- we said she isn't here.

[the patron of Craftsmanship looks extremely relieved]

**Namo**: [frowning to himself]   
Who does he remind me of?

[to his spouse]

Vaire sweetheart, doesn't that kid remind you of someone we've seen before?   
--Her consort, not Finarfin's boy.

**Vaire**: [frowning in turn]   
Now that you mention it, dear, yes. --Not recently, though. Something about   
the personality . . .   


* * *

**SCENE III.ii**

  


[The Hall]

[Beside the waterfall, Luthien is now holding Beren, kneeling with him half-sitting   
against her, her arms folded over his, resting her cheek against his head. He seems   
calmer now but very worn out. Huan is lying stretched beside him with his head on   
Beren's knees. Finrod has taken over the harp-playing, and the Ten are kneeling in   
a close ring around the four of them. There is a somber and tense air to the scene]

**Ranger**: [to the Warrior, who keeps looking at the spill-pool distractedly]   
What's wrong?

**Warrior**: [quietly]   
I was thinking some light would be good. Remember those little floating lamps   
in the summer? Wouldn't flames look nice reflecting off the water?

**Ranger**: [frowning]   
How would you go about doing it? You're not going to actually try burning   
something, are you?

**Warrior**:   
No, I thought the way we did it for the Battle. Just an illusion.

**Ranger**:   
Oh, all right.

[encouraging]

--You should do it. That could be quite lovely.

[they set about creating tall intense-white candle-like flames on the surface of   
the calmer, shallow end of the spill-pool]

**Beren**: [still vague and a bit slurred]   
So then . . . what did they say?

**Luthien**: [ragged]   
Nothing -- nothing much. Stupid things. --The same old rotten nonsense.

**Beren**:   
Sorry . . .

[he gives her left hand a little shake where it is entwined with his]

Just doesn't stop, does it?

**Luthien**: [shaking her head]   
I still can't believe they'd be so horrible -- I wouldn't ever have thought it   
of Angrod especially, not after being so forgiving to House Feanor. Oh but I'm   
going to have words for him when I see him! And Aegnor too!

[there is a discordant chord and break in the background music]

**Finrod**:   
I'm sorry -- I didn't mean to fail you again. I thought it would be safe enough,   
or I'd not have left him here.

**Steward**: [heavily]   
The blame is mine, for failing to send them away promptly enough.

**Luthien**: [snorting]   
How could you have stopped them, my lord? I don't see any gates to close against   
them. And you're not my Mom, so you couldn't have made a maze to keep them out.

**Steward**:   
Nevertheless a task was entrusted, and I the senior-most--

**Finrod**:   
Edrahil, I'm not blaming any of you. I should have thought through the   
possibilities before dashing off and foreseen something of the like--

**Beren**: [urgent]   
Please -- don't. Don't fight about me.

[shivers suddenly]

**Luthien**:   
Are you cold again?

**Beren**:   
No.

[he smiles a little]

Between you and Huan -- couldn't go anywhere if I wanted to.

[very quietly, as if they were alone, singing:]

--Black is the color   
of my true love's hair--   
Her face is something   
wondrous fair . . .

[as he trails in and out, Luthien joins him on the last lines, her voice almost   
as unsteady:]

**Luthien**:   
--The purest eyes   
and the bravest hands--   
I love the ground   
whereon he stands--

[muffled, into his hair]

Don't leave -- don't leave me, Beren.

[to the side, the enhancements are about finished.]

**Warrior**:   
How does that look now?

**Ranger**:   
Hmm . . . I think it's too busy.

[gesturing]

Instead of having them bobbing about, why don't you anchor them as if they   
were resting on stands coming just up under the surface. There's already so   
much motion because of the reflections in the water, having the lights moving   
as well looks choppy.

[as they tweak it, the five Powers, having given up waiting, appear in front of   
the group and stand contemplating them with a critical gaze]

**Namo**:   
No, it doesn't seem like they're planning on coming back. I'm still--

[snorts]

--not sure about the mad prank part.

[throughout the following exchanges he stands with folded arms looking hard at   
Beren, saying nothing -- Luthien glares tearfully back at him, while the Ten look   
a bit overwhelmed at being confronted by so many not-terribly happy deities at one   
go. Finrod just keeps on playing as though he were a bard at a gathering and there   
were nothing unusual about any of this.]

**Orome**: [sternly]   
Huan.

[the Hound gives him an alert Look but doesn't move]

Huan! Come here.

**Huan**:   
[sharp distressed bark]

**Orome**: [louder]   
Bad dog! Come!

**Huan**:   
[repeated sharp barks]

[the racket is what you would expect of a large dog in a large echoing area.   
Everyone winces, and Orome tries to outshout Huan.]

**Vaire**:   
Tav, please! Not now.

**Irmo**: [disapprovingly]   
What a heathen and barbaric-looking spectacle.

[one has to admit he has a point -- there's a definite Viking-funeral aspect to   
the scene, what with the honor-guard, the flames, the horse-sized Hound, the harper   
and the dead Man's wife all clustered about beside the water]

**Vaire**: [deceptively mild]   
Would anyone like to explain this?

**Captain**:   
It's my project. --Please don't break anything, milady --

[she rolls her eyes]

--it's purely to help our friend, the Princess's husband.

[Vaire looks back across to the hill and then towards the waterfall again.]

**Vaire**: [warningly]   
I'm not cleaning all this up. --Can you people manage not to flood the hallways   
this time?

**Captain**:   
That was an accident, I assure you, no one realized the conduit was there--

**Vaire**: [forced patience]   
Yes. I know. That's why I'm asking in advance. I don't know what will happen if   
you get the Loom wet. And I don't want to find out, and if you have any sense   
whatsoever, child, you don't either.

[to her husband]

I'm going to look for that reference, darling.

[she goes over to the Loom and starts fiddling with it in a very competent and   
rapid way]

**Orome**: [low commanding tone]   
Huan, come here.

**Huan**:   
[menacing growls]

**Namo**:   
Huan. Tavros. Finrod. --Quiet.

[the music and snarling stop, leaving only the sound of the waterfall]

**Luthien**: [aggressively pleading]   
My Lord--

[Namo holds up his hand for silence]

**Namo**: [to Beren]   
Why are you trying to leave?

**Beren**:   
I'm not exactly trying to leave, Sir.

**Namo**:   
Please don't do this. I don't have patience for word games. --What is the problem?

**Beren**: [very simply and quietly]   
I found out about something terrible that happened in the past. I felt as if   
I'd been betrayed. I don't feel as though I belong here any more.

**Namo**: [ignoring Finrod's flinch at Beren's words and expression of grief]   
Then why are you still here?

**Beren**:   
Because Tinuviel told me to stay.

**Namo**:   
Is that the only reason?

[pause]

**Beren**:   
No.

**Namo**:   
Do you want to leave?

**Beren**: [wretchedly]   
I don't know.

**Namo**: [ignoring Luthien's distressed noise]   
If you happen to figure it out, let us know, would you? So that we don't have   
to waste any more time on this discussion.

**Beren**:   
Yessir.

**Namo**: [snorts]   
Honestly. You people.

[to Vaire]

I've remembered why he seems familiar, darling: you don't need to try to find   
the piece. Do you recall that fellow who kept shouting at us because he seemed   
to think it was our fault that he'd believed Morgoth's emissary and not   
Finarfinion the Elder here?

**Vaire**:   
Oh dear. Yes.

[she stares keenly across at Beren]

You're right. --How long did it take you to convince him that he needed to   
take his complaints elsewhere since you never had any control over the King's   
brother, or over his servants, let alone over any mortals, and that it was   
pointless for him to keep railing at you for not having somehow prevented   
him from making mistakes?

**Namo**:   
Way too long. I should have recognized that blockheadedness from the beginning.

[Beren and Finrod exchange a brief troubled look -- Finrod touches his shoulder   
reassuringly]

**Luthien**: [terse]   
Beren, what's he talking about?

**Beren**: [glum]   
One of my relatives. --My way-back uncle Bereg, who took a bunch of the tribe   
back east again . . . after Sauron-in-disguise convinced him that it was a bad   
idea to stay and get killed fighting in the Leaguer. . . . Sounds like it didn't   
work out too well for them.

**Finrod**: [urgently]   
Sir, this is BerEN, not BerEG. He's a very different person, both in the   
actuality and in the ideal.

**Namo**:   
Can you manage for once not to talk down to me, Finrod? --Not that I hold out   
much hope of it. I know that he's not the same one again. I said he's got the   
same family stubbornness.

[shaking his head]

At least he isn't blaming any of his troubles on us. So far.

**Luthien**: [suppressed fury]   
And why shouldn't he, when you're tricking me into leaving him so that you   
can banish him without my knowing?

**Namo**:   
Why do you think I'm doing it?

**Luthien**:   
Because you want him to go, and you're in charge here.

**Finrod**: [simultaneous with her words]   
You're not? --My Lord.

**Namo**: [patiently]   
I don't have jurisdiction over mortals. The only one who seems to have any   
control over this young Man is you. And to a lesser extent your cousin here.   
Somehow he's staying here, in defiance of the Laws of the universe, because   
you told him to. And I would guess that, if it's not outright tearing him   
apart, that's only because he possesses inordinate obduracy and resilience.   
--Either that or he's so crazy that there's no way to tell. But the strain   
on him has got to be tremendous.

**Luthien**:   
Why can't you do something to stop it?

**Namo**:   
Wrong question.

[pause]

The proper question is "Why can you do something to stop it?" -- and the   
answer lies with him.

[the Lord of Dreams moves closer and kneels down on the other side of Beren from   
where Huan is guarding him -- the Elven-shades react with defensive tension, but   
the Hound, lacking any such inhibitions, just bares his teeth and growls]

**Irmo**: [calm voice]   
I'm not going to hurt him.

[to Beren]

Let me see, please.

[he touches his forehead like someone checking a child for fever -- over his   
shoulder, to his brother:]

--It's as you thought: the binding is mutual; he doesn't truly want to let go.

[to Beren, warningly]

The strain will only get worse, the longer you stay here, you do understand.

**Beren**: [quick sardonic smile]   
I can stand a lot.

[bewildered frown]

I know you . . . somehow.

**Irmo**: [nods]   
Yes.

[he rises and returns to his companions]

The efforts of these equally-focussed souls to entrap him here, and the   
beneficial impact of such surroundings as they have created, can't be   
dismissed; but if he were not willing -- or rather, set upon it -- all   
the therapeutic effects of water, light, music and love would be useless.

[sighing deeply]

As we have learned to our lasting sorrow. --It's the strength of his desire   
for her, as much as hers for him, that withstands the frailty of his own   
inherent nature, and the call of his proper Fate. . . . . Rationally one   
should deplore such a rebellious intransigence -- but one can't help admiring   
such gallant determination.

**Aule**: [dry]   
So you're saying he's more obsessive than Feanor, Tilion and Eol combined?   
And this is supposed to be a recommendation?

**Vaire**: [still messing with the Loom]   
I've just noticed something that might be useful. Excuse me--

[she vanishes]

**Namo**: [to Luthien]   
Does that answer your questions? I have no idea how he's managing to hold   
on here. However he's doing it, it's his lookout, and his responsibility --   
though whether he'll remember that when it gets to the yelling and the   
recriminations is anyone's guess. I doubt you will either, given your   
attitude, but we'll see how it goes. Can we finish our discussion now?   
Without any more abrupt exits?

**Luthien**:   
I'm not going to leave him alone again!

**Orome**: [acidly]   
He's hardly alone.

[several of the Ten are doing their best to avoid his Look, particularly the   
Captain, the Noldor Ranger and the Warrior. Huan makes a preliminary-bark noise,   
but the Steward shushes him.]

**Luthien**:   
Besides, what's the point? Nobody was saying anything purposeful.

**Beren**: [hesitantly defensive]   
I haven't yelled at anyone, Sir.

**Namo**:   
--Yet. --Because, Luthien, this is an insupportable situation, for you, for   
him, and as a result for us.

[without looking around]

And look who's mysteriously appeared -- though that's hardly surprising,   
given his earlier mysterious disappearance.

[as his sister's student walks in looking preoccupied -- then takes in the crowd   
and stops short, dismayed]

Where have you been?

**Apprentice**:   
I had an errand I was supposed to run for my Lady.

[he looks around guiltily, trying not to make it obvious that he's wondering where   
Amarie went]

**Namo**:   
You said you didn't have anything else to do.

**Apprentice**:   
I -- I know. I forgot, Sir.

**Namo**: [intense exasperation]   
How could you forget? I asked you directly, you said "No."

**Apprentice**: [shrugs]   
I was wrong.

**Namo**:   
Why didn't you say something? Nobody could find you. You just walked off and   
left no one else in charge! Do you really think that's the right way to go   
about things?

**Apprentice**:   
I didn't think it would take long enough to make it worth bothering anyone about.

[pause]

I gather I was wrong about that, too.

**Namo**:   
What if security had tried to contact me with information about the rogue?

**Apprentice**:   
But they didn't.

**Namo**:   
How do you know?

[The Apprentice takes out what looks like a marble and shows it to him]

**Apprentice**:   
I set up a sympathetic link, so that if the stone went off I'd hear it and know.

[pause]

So it was all right, Sir--

**Namo**:   
No it wasn't, because first of all it's the principal of the thing, that you   
don't just walk away from your work and forget to tell someone about it, and   
secondly we needed you to run an errand and you weren't there. How long is it   
going to take before you stop and think before haring off on some new project   
or whim while the other ones are still unfinished?

**Apprentice**:   
Erm, is that real, or rhetorical, my Lord? Because I'm afraid nobody knows the   
answer, not even the King -- that's why he asked my Master to take me on -- but   
I've made a chart of my progress so far if you want to try to work out a projected   
date--

**Namo**: [holding up his hand]   
Stop. Just stop.

[looks from Finrod to Nienna's Apprentice]

I don't know which of you two is more annoying.

[the recipients of his disapproval share disgruntled Looks]

**Apprentice**:   
Well -- what should I be doing, then, Sir? Do you want me to run the errand now?

**Aule**:   
No. We gave it to someone more responsible.

**Apprentice**: [crestfallen]   
Oh.

**Namo**:   
Would you just ask my wife and then do what it is she tells you to do? She'll   
probably just want you to keep any eye on the usual troublemakers and make sure   
they're not killing each other again.

**Apprentice**:   
Oh joy.

[he makes no move to go]

**Namo**: [to Luthien]   
Could we be getting back to our discussion now?

**Luthien**:   
No, I want to talk to my husband first.

[pause]

In private. I'll come along when we're done.

[pause]

You needn't wait, my Lord.

**Namo**: [looking around]   
You call this private?

[pause]

**Luthien**:   
I meant without any divine critiquing going on.

**Namo**:   
Then why didn't you say so?

[to Nienna's Apprentice]

You may not be at the top of my list for long. By the way, what are you   
still doing here?

**Apprentice**:   
You said to keep the usual troublemakers from killing each other. About   
half of them are here.

**Namo**:   
And?

**Apprentice**:   
And this is far more interesting. And yes, Sir, that was a very free   
interpretation of what you said. And I think I'll be going to verify   
that with Lady Vaire first.

[he bows and exits hastily, yet still reluctantly, looking back at the scene   
of the confrontation]

**Orome**:   
He really gets on my nerves.

**Irmo**:   
Is there anyone's that he doesn't?

**Aule**:   
It's the wasted potential that's the worst.

[pointed silence. Finrod sighs and drums his fingers on the harp-frame, looking   
at the ceiling]

**Luthien**:   
Making snide remarks about my cousin isn't going to speed things along -- or   
make me feel particularly more well-disposed to you.

[pause]

**Orome**: [defensive]   
We weren't talking about--

**Namo**: [interrupting]   
No, in fact, that's exactly what we were doing.

[to Luthien]

Call us when you're ready -- we're waiting for you.

[the Powers vanish. The room is left a bit less empty-seeming this time, due to   
the presence of a dozen other shades, a small waterfall, torches and one of those   
ghosts being a giant Hound. Beren sits up the rest of the way, supported on either   
side by his wife and her cousin.]

**Luthien**:   
Beren -- do you really want to leave?

[he looks at her sadly, but doesn't answer

Don't tell me what you think I -- what I want to hear.

[he still doesn't say anything]

Are -- are you angry -- at me?

[still no reply]

Please answer me -- even if it's yes--

[he puts his arm around her neck and kisses her, patting her head and smoothing her   
face as they pull away after]

**Beren**: [wryly]   
How's that?

[she gives him a watery smile, and the rest of his friends finally relax]

**Captain**:   
I'd say that's a "no" on both counts.

[Beren looks at the flames on the reflecting pool]

**Beren**:   
That -- looks spectacular. Thanks.

**Warrior**: [shrugging]   
Wasn't much, really.

**Ranger**:   
Gave us something to do besides worry.

**Beren**: [sighing]   
Have you ever heard of anyone fading out of sheer embarrassment?

**Luthien**: [stressed]   
Why on earth would you want to do that, love?

**Beren**: [looking down, shoulders hunched]   
All this trouble over nothing -- so many people being dragged into it --   
the gods -- because I can't seem to figure out this business of being dead.

**Finrod**:   
Beren, it wasn't nothing. You were in a very bad way, it was real, and what   
we did was real and necessary, and worked as it would have if we had been alive   
and you Eldar. You don't need to apologize.

[he tips Beren's chin up as if talking to a child]

Right? --Unless you think you can possibly out-apologize me. Do you want   
to try?

[groans from the Ten -- Beren gives a small smile and shakes his head]

**Beren**:   
Nope.

[Finrod tousles his hair and pulls him closer]

**Finrod**: [quietly]   
Can you forgive me?

**Beren**:   
Already did -- cousin.

[he hugs Finrod hard, as the other tries not to come completely undone. While   
Finrod discreetly wipes his eyes on his sleeve:]

I didn't want to ask -- him -- but . . . who's Eol?

**Finrod**:   
Living -- well, proof, at any rate -- that not all the craziness is on my   
side of the family.

**Luthien**:   
Is he here?

**Finrod**: [deep sigh]   
Oh yes. App--

**Luthien**: [interrupting]   
--Did he really marry what's-her-name, your uncle's daughter -- Aredhel?   
That's what Curufin said.

**Finrod**:   
And accidentally murdered her. We have very interesting family reunions   
around here.

**Beren**: [disbelieving]   
How can you accidentally murder someone?

**Steward**:   
He was, so the story goes, endeavoring to murder their son, but she intervened.   
Pursuant to which her brother had him thrown off a precipice. Not before -- or   
so he brags -- managing to put a curse on their son, however.

**Beren**:   
Oh.

[pause]

Am I not following very well, or was that weird even for Elves?

**Finrod**:   
Yes. --To the second question, not the first. Apparently he turned up here   
demanding that she be sent back to Middle-earth so that they could start over   
again together. For any number of reasons that's simply not going to happen,   
so now they're both here giving the Powers chronic headaches.

[Beren looks serious]

And no, your situation is nothing at all like that, you didn't kill Luthien, and   
she's the one who came here after you, not vice versa--

**Luthien**: [nodding]   
So if anyone ought to be compared to those three it should be me.

**Beren**:   
But -- I -- hadn't even thought that yet.

**Finrod**:   
You were about to. Right?

[Beren looks down]

**Youngest Ranger:** [stammering worse than Beren]   
Y--your Highness . . . it's an honour . . .

[he's too overwhelmed to go on; Luthien is puzzled]

**Finrod**:   
He's one of those who imagined you as "twelve feet tall with a perpetual   
battle aura."

**Youngest Ranger**:   
That's not true!

[in response to the other's Look]

Well, all right, rather--

[Luthien shakes her head]

**Luthien**:   
It wasn't like that -- Huan did most of it, I just played bait until we   
got the one worth interrogating.

**Finrod**: [raising his eyebrows]   
And who did the interrogating? I'm guessing that it wasn't Huan.

**Luthien**:   
Yes, but Huan had a choke-hold on his jugular, which makes for a great deal   
of distraction as well as incentive to cooperate.

**Captain**:   
I've seen your father angry. I wouldn't place any bets on which one of you   
was the scariest.

**Luthien**:   
It really, really wasn't that way at all. I was terrified -- I was shaking   
so hard I could hardly get back up again.

[Beren's jaw clenches]

**Finrod**:   
And you don't think Elu's frightened going into battle?

**Luthien**: [disbelieving]   
Dad? Frightened?

**Steward**:   
Of what should follow on his losing, if of nothing else.

[She frowns at this -- an alien concept, Thingol afraid -- and shrugs]

**Luthien**:   
I only did what I had to do, with lots of help.

[she looks around at them all, ending with Beren]

And so far it hasn't been enough.

[Huan gets up and shoves his head into her face and throat, wagging his tail and   
being a very good dog, until she stops sniffling and shakes her head with a defiant   
lift of her chin.]

I'm not giving up. --I'm not.

[Huan looks over his shoulder and gives a happy bark, just before the Rangers snap   
to attention -- Nienna's Apprentice comes into the hall again, very diffident and   
apologetic in his bearing. He comes up and bows to the group, addressing Luthien:]

**Apprentice**: [nervously]   
Excuse me, but could you please come along now? Or else--

**Luthien**: [savage]   
--Or else what?

**Apprentice**:   
Ah, he's going to yell at me again.

[pause]

It's even worse than when you yell at me.

**Luthien**: [shrewd Look]   
You're trying to make me feel sorry for you.

[pause -- the Apprentice nods]

I should warn you that I'm not very cooperative any more when people try to   
guilt me into doing what they want.

**Apprentice**: [downcast]   
I'm awfully sorry.

[to Finrod]

Erm . . . you don't happen to know where the Lady Amarie is, do you?

[Finrod shakes his head, his smile looking rather definitely edged]

**Luthien**:   
You're still doing it!

**Apprentice**:   
Is it working?

**Luthien**: [trying not to smile, not entirely successful]   
A bit. It's also making me want to throw something at you.

**Finrod**: [innocent]   
Really? I've had this idea that one could probably pull water up and make it   
hold together long enough for it to stay airborne, rather like snow, but I've   
been saving it for some really tedious stint to experiment with it. Would you   
like to try it out now?

[the Apprentice glares at him, trying to look far too dignified to be a target   
for a water fight. Luthien raises an eyebrow]

**Luthien**:   
Actually, I was thinking -- more like a chair.

[the Apprentice sighs]

**Apprentice**: [to the air at large]   
Master, I'm afraid this isn't having the result you intended. --At least, I   
certainly hope this isn't what you intended, my Lady! My temper seems to be   
getting shorter and shorter, not the other way 'round!

[to Luthien, pleading]

Your Highness, please don't make me go back and fetch the Lord of the Halls.   
He'll be very put out with all of us. --And he'll treat me like a fool. And   
you don't really care one way or another about that -- not that I really   
blame you -- but still I--

**Huan**: [interrupting]   
[sharp bark]

[pause]

**Apprentice**:   
Sorry.

[Luthien gives an exaggerated sigh and looks at Beren]

**Beren**: [low voice]   
You should. --At least we can show willing.

**Luthien**:   
But I'm not. Not if it means giving you up.

[pause -- Finrod reaches across Beren and rubs her shoulders]

**Beren**:   
I'm okay. I'll -- I'll be all right.

[she moves around to kneel in front of him, putting her hands on either side of   
his face and staring fixedly into his eyes]

**Luthien**: [adamantine clarity]   
Beren. I told you to wait for me. I haven't told you to stop. If you dare   
fade out of Arda I will find some way to follow you, and let the One help   
anyone who tries to stop me--!

[she waits until he nods, solemnly, in reply and then kisses him hard before   
getting up to accompany Nienna's student -- who is preoccupied now with the   
additions to the fountain.]

**Apprentice**:   
How did you make those? I can't see any sort of fuel or wick or anything.

**Warrior**:   
They're illusions. Nothing's really burning.

**Ranger**:   
I mean, really -- what would we burn, after all? Stone?

**Warrior**: [seriously]   
Stone will burn if you get it hot enough, if it's the right kind.

**Ranger**: [dismissive]   
I know, I know -- but you'd need some fuel to raise it to that temperature,   
and that brings us right back to where we started from.

**Apprentice**:   
Oh, that explains why the reflections are all wrong.

**Warrior**:   
No, they aren't.

**Apprentice**: [pointing]   
Yes, they are, they're too long: your "flames" aren't tall enough to cast so   
much of a reflection.

**Warrior**:   
It's a work of art. Haven't you ever heard of artistic license?

**Apprentice**:   
But it looks wrong that way! They should only be about like so--

[he changes them, so that there is far less reflected light on the water]

**Ranger**:   
But that doesn't look anywhere near as pretty.

**Apprentice**:   
Yes, but that's reality--

[Luthien clears her throat: he looks around guilty and sees her standing there   
tapping her foot.]

**Luthien**:   
First you nag me to come, now you're dawdling. I really don't have any   
patience for this right now.

**Apprentice**:   
Erm . . .

[she gives him a narrow Look]

--Sorry?

**Luthien**:   
I damn' well hope so!

[he hastily moves to escort her out -- at the doorway she pauses and turns back   
to give the company an intense stare]

Beren, remember -- stay.

**Beren**: [wide-eyed innocence]   
--Woof!

[Huan gives him a startled look at his imitation; Luthien's earnest look turns   
into an embarrassed smile and she goes, on the edge between laughing and crying.   
As soon as Nienna's Apprentice is gone the Warrior brings back his illusions to   
the way they were.]

**Warrior**: [disgruntled]   
What does he know about it anyway? Has he studied the subject?

[rather stiffly, Beren gets up, leaning on Huan's back and head for leverage,   
and patting the Hound once he is on his feet -- Huan licks his hand and gives   
him a sad-eyed look; Beren pats him again and goes over to the quieter shallow   
end of the pool, moving with bone-deep weariness. He kneels down and splashes   
water on his face, before settling down to look at the reflections of the lights,   
trailing his fingers in the basin with a look of bemused wonder. Anxiously Finrod   
comes over and crouches by him, very definitely hovering. Behind them Huan makes   
unscrupulous use of doggish charm to ensure that the Ten devote themselves to   
giving him scratches and nose-rubs.]

**Finrod**: [timidly]   
Do you want me to tell you all about it?

[silence]

**Beren**:   
Not right now. I just -- need time to think. I can't -- it's all been too   
much. Not just -- all of it.

[Finrod nods sadly]

Can you keep playing?

**Finrod**: [nodding again and picking up the harp]   
Anything in particular?

**Beren**: [shaking his head]   
Just that --

[makes a sort of back-and-forth gesture with his hand]

--like you were doing, to sort of go along with the water. I know that's really a technical description there . . .

**Finrod**:   
Like this?

[he plays a simple arpeggio, very mellow and slow, not at all "agitare", and Beren nods.]

I'll just keep doing that then, until you tire of it.

**Beren**: [as if struck by a sudden thought]   
Do you want to talk about it?

[Finrod nods in return]

I -- I guess that would be all right then. Can you talk and play at the same   
time? It -- isn't like singing, I guess.

**Finrod**:   
That isn't the problem. Such simple music is no bar to speech at all. I -- I   
don't know what to say, exactly, or how.

**Beren**:   
Oh.

[long pause]

**Finrod**: [softly]   
She was the star that awakened his heart -- she truly was his one true love,   
the morning arising for him upon the world -- and he Saw the coming of twilight   
even in the hour of her ascendance, in his fear, and fled to the outer darkness   
himself, before her Sun could fall to shadow. And she loved him in turn, and--

[he cannot go on]

**Beren**:   
And you didn't think it was a good idea then, either.

**Finrod**:   
I -- I agreed with him, and with his arguments, and did not force him to go   
back to her, and the risk of that confrontation, and whatever might have   
followed on that argument -- whether of wrath -- or of reconciliation. And   
he has never forgiven me for yielding to him, and giving him his head in this,   
and very likely he never will. He has sworn himself to eternal celibacy, and   
eternal mourning, because she was his soulmate, and she has left the Circles   
of the World, and so he will take no more joy in Arda, because she does not.

**Beren**: [quiet]   
You Saw that happening to Luthien, too, didn't you?

**Finrod**: [shaking his head]   
Not in the sense you mean. But I -- I feared it might. But more -- I bethought   
of your own folk--

[he stops playing without even realizing it]

--of Balan, the first Beor, who followed me so brief a time, until sight and   
bone and heart failed -- though never spirit! -- of all those who came after,   
to our halls, to ride and sing and dance among us, and then vanish like breath   
on a wintery morning -- but first to grow brittle as ice, as fragile as a frozen   
leaf, and weary as a snow-laden bough under the burden of suffering and shame.

[earnest & pleading]

It was not all selfishness for my own kin.

**Beren**:   
You don't have to go into all this if you really don't want, Sir.

[the flatness of his words is belied by the accompanying gesture -- he puts his   
hand over Finrod's on the frame of the harp, looking at him without flinching]

**Finrod**: [sad]   
I don't want you hating my brother -- either one of them -- even if they insist   
on being difficult.

**Beren**:   
I wouldn't anyway.

**Finrod**:   
I know, because you still can't stop blaming yourself for my death. But that   
really has no connection with what happened between our kin before you were   
born. Not logically, at least.

**Beren**:   
Yeah, but it still feels like it does somehow.

**Finrod**: [frowns]   
That reminds me: if they come back -- and given the way this place is, there   
isn't really any doubt about it -- to remonstrate with me, or to reproach you   
directly or indirectly again, I want you to stay out of it and to let me manage   
everything. Don't let them entangle you in another exchange of hostilities.   
Leave the talking to me -- I know how to deal with them.

[Beren just looks at him, with his head a bit to the side]

Would you stop giving me that look, please? This isn't like the last time.

[On the far side of the room Amarie enters, with an air of assumed nonchalance and   
self-confidence. The Ten notice and look dismayed -- neither of the other two does,   
however.]

**Beren**:   
What if it isn't your brothers? What if it's House Feanor again?

[the Steward clears his throat loudly]

**Finrod**: [oblivious]   
Again, I'm far better equipped to deal with any of my relatives than you are --   
even if you're no more likely to be afflicted with scruples towards the following   
of Feanor than I am. Trust me on this, and leave all the unnecessary worries to me.

**Beren**:   
What if it's one of the gods again? Or all of 'em? It sounds like they're a lot   
more fed up with you than they are with me. After all, I haven't got centuries   
of history between us to keep hauling up and slamming around like rocks at each   
other.

**Finrod**: [lecturing mode]   
Beren, no one here is going to behave like Sauron. Yes, we have our differences,   
and grievances over the past -- and yes, before you say anything, we have our   
present differences and grievances as well -- but those are all minor -- or   
mostly minor -- and the big ones are for the most part resolved. If the Powers   
that are in charge of this place were going to punish me it would already have   
happened over the business of the ceilings and the aqueduct. A few more comments,   
sarcastic or otherwise, isn't going to make a difference one way or the other   
at this point.

**Beren**:   
I dunno -- you can be awfully obnoxious when you put your mind to it, Sir.

**Finrod**:   
And you can't? I don't want you drawing negative attention upon yourself from   
any other persons, divine or not, even if it's in my interest, because you still   
feel obscurely guilty and don't know how to accept help gracefully--

[the Captain reaches over and taps Beren rather urgently on the shoulder, him being   
the closer of the two -- Beren looks over, sees, and bites his lip]

**Beren**:   
What if it's Amarie again?

**Finrod**: [indulgently]   
Wouldn't she fall into the category of "other persons, divine or not"--?

**Beren**:   
Um, Sir -- that wasn't a rhetorical question.

[long pause]

**Finrod**: [desperate bravado]   
I think the word you want is "hypothetical."

**Beren**:   
No, I think the word we want is -- help.

[Amarie stands there looking down on the scene, with folded arms and a pleasant   
fixed smile]

**Finrod**:   
I think we've used up our quota of divine interventions for the day. Besides,   
given how peevish they're being, I wouldn't want to count on it being particularly   
helpful.

**Amarie**: [sinister gentleness -- to the Ten:]   
Milords -- what curse or device hath laden withal my steps, that I might not   
find my way upon a straight path save only to return whence ever I didst go,   
howsoever I go?

[nervous silence ]

Whichever hast done this -- or whosoever kennest aught -- might answer: I care   
not which, so that I learn the truth.

**Finrod**:   
Personally, I think that's a completely irrelevant question. I'd ask -- how is   
it done, and how would you change it? Those seem much more useful questions than   
worrying about which guilty party deserves punishment. --Particularly since no   
one did such a thing.

**Amarie**: [same patient tone]   
If yon ringleader of runagates had troubled his insubstantial self to list to   
the words I did e'en now speak, he might perchance to have noted that such, in   
most pointed fact, was the selfsame word I asked of ye.

**Finrod**: [to Beren]   
You did hear me say that you can't just walk from point to point here as though   
it were a field, or even a city, because somehow your will and unconscious intent   
determines where you end up. --Interesting confirmation that it works that way   
regardless of corporeal status -- it must be like the Labyrinth. Makes mapmaking   
no end of a challenge, that's for certain.

**Beren**:   
Yep. --Only not that extra speculation. But you did warn her.

[Amarie closes her eyes in an exasperated expression]

Hey, does that mean you're saying she keeps coming back here because she really   
wants to be here?

**Finrod**:   
No, but that is the logical implication of it, one's forced to conclude.

**Amarie**:   
Is there none about of sense or civility to serve as guide, then?

**Finrod**:   
Does anyone wish to explain to the noble lady that the Halls are very understaffed   
at present and the management has been called away to deal with more pressing   
matters than her ability to hold a grudge?

**Amarie**: [lightly]   
One expects naught of present company, saving one's self, but surely there cannot   
be none of sense remaining in this place. What of the rest, that art held within?   
Hath not many repaired here over the Age, in accordance with the stated Doom? And   
yet it hath emptier thoroughfares than either Tirion or Alqualonde ere Tilion's   
embarkation. Nothing of company, saving mine own shadow, and footfalls' echoes,   
have I met -- though worse companions there may be surely found within.

[pause]

**Captain**:   
It's like when there's going to be an earthquake or a hurricane -- everyone and   
everything with any sense has already gone to ground long since as soon as they   
sensed the coming of disaster.

**Steward**:   
Don't -- make things worse.

**Captain**:   
You're ascribing far too much to my competence.

**Amarie**: [ice]   
I have naught else to say to ye miscreants.

**Captain**: [fervent]   
Thank you, most kind Nienna!

**Amarie** [sharply]   
--Dost ken, then where the Lady shall be?

**Captain**: [shaking his head regretfully]   
Knew it was too good to be true.

**Amarie**: [caustic]   
Ay, well then, where the shepherd leads, the flock shall follow -- yet might   
expect to find greater part of wisdom in shepherd than sheep? But howso, indeed,   
if the leader doth follow his foolish charges, nor stay them from their folly,   
nor cease when they will to run past cliff's edge unto the Sea? For mad lieges,   
how else but a maddest of lords to be fitting?

**Youngest Ranger**: [bewildered, trying to whisper, but not being nearly quiet enough,   
to the Warrior]   
I thought the Vanyar were supposed to be holy . . . ?

[Amarie shoots him a fire-arrow Look and he quails]

**Amarie**:   
And what kennest thou of holiness, that never didst behold the Light?

**Youngest Ranger**: [abashed]   
--Sorry.

**Amarie**: [cutting]   
Shall a Turned One chide me, that was bred and born in Valmar, of the depths   
of his benighted ignorance? No more unfitting, I guess, than mortal shall   
the same!

[Huan makes a grumbling unhappy noise, looking up from under his eyebrows at them   
in turn]

**Steward**:   
My lady, restrain thy hostility towards those that in some wise merit it, nor   
set it against those who have shown far more of virtue than you yourself in   
steadfastness of affection.

[they match stares in a fierce contest]

**Youngest Ranger**: [dismayed aside]   
How can she tell?

**Beren**: [scooting over to him]   
Probably the way we could when we met the King. Couldn't your people tell when   
they first came back that they weren't the same as you either? And it's even   
more obvious -- the way we are now. --Don't ask me how.

[he puts an arm around the other's shoulders]

Does it matter? That you're not Noldor? So you guys' ancestors didn't make it   
all the way on time. You're still fighting the fight, hm?

[the Youngest Ranger gives him an uncertain look]

Me, I'd rather hear "Sindar" or even "Nandor" any day of the week than   
"Kinslayer" -- being "Light-Elven" didn't help Curufin much, did it?   
--Or "mortal."

[pause]

If you don't look down on me, how come you think it's okay to look down on you?

[the Sindarin Ranger smiles a little at this. The staring contest between Amarie and   
the Steward breaks off: he does not give way, and she tosses her head in dismissal]

**Amarie**:   
If thou hast not lost all semblance of civility in yon rustic wilderness, Your   
Majesty, perhaps thou'lt deign to rise and greet me nor affect this foolish   
feignéd deafness--

[raising her voice abruptly]

--Put aside that gaming music and stand and brave me, villain, or I swear that   
all the Ages of the world will pass ere thou'lt darken door of mine! Art too   
grand now, is't, to speak with such a lowly Elf as she who waits upon thy notice,   
being no Queen nor Princess of the Eldar? Fie!

[with an indulgent sigh Finrod puts down the harp once again and rises, making an   
extravagant and far-too-ornate bow; the Ten, and Beren, get up awkwardly, while Huan   
only sits up and pays attention with cocked ears and quizzical look. The ex-couple   
are far too preoccupied to notice the distress of their audience, or to care if   
they did.]

**Finrod**: [mildly]   
I'm listening.

[pause]

Now that you've commanded my attention -- did you actually have anything you   
wanted to say?

**Amarie**: [earnestly, shaking her head]   
--Why dost thou stay here, in this abysmal place, this mean estate, and   
tatterdemalion attendance, when thou shouldst walk free and fare abroad,   
held by naught, save by thine own choosing? All Aman doth hold thee mad for   
it -- none that hath thine acquaintance, still more thy former fellowship   
in bygone Day, doth comprehend it, and all alike do judge thy loss hath   
reft thy mind withal.

**Finrod**:   
I don't know why. It's very peaceful here -- most of the time, at least. I'd   
rather spend the next hundred-odd years of existence here, than being given   
reproachful looks and edged remarks and forbidden to answer them under the Sun.

[Amarie spins around and begins walking quickly towards the door while Finrod   
stands with folded arms, looking after her and smiling sarcastically]

**Finrod**: [loudly]   
Here we go again. --I wonder how many times we're going to repeat this little   
charade before the jester who started it comes and rescues us. I greatly doubt   
that there's any limit to her ability to walk off and leave me in shambles, all   
the while maintaining a perfect and impenetrable shield of pride, trailing my   
heart's blood through the wreckage from her dripping sword of hate!

[the Ten -- and Beren -- wince in excruciation at having to witness this -- Huan   
gives a particularly ear-piercing keen and a reproachful look at Finrod. Amarie   
stops short in the archway as though an invisible door had been slammed in her face   
and stands perfectly still for a second -- then turns around and strides back, fast   
and furious, her draperies billowing behind her like sails of a galleon]

**Amarie**: [as she is bearing down upon them, not stopping or slowing in speed or speech]   
Thou insolent, arrogant, amiable, thankless, flightsome, winsome, devious,   
treacherous, smiling fiend!!! How canst thou stand and say to me, withouten   
shred of compuntiliousness, that -- that -- any such of thing?!?

[she is literally glowing with rage, though the soft ambient light somewhat dulls   
her aura]

Thou -- thou -- thou Spider's get! --I made mock of thee? I left thee in tears   
and tatters? I ask ye -- all of ye, that stand unfriends to me--

[she pauses to whirl and look at all the Ten in quick turn]

--all ye many that did stand upon that day, and sit to table at the Opening Hour,   
and sing our names and drink our joys, and eat the gift-bread that my hands did   
make -- which of us twain it was did go, and which it was, left standing lonely   
at the broken Feast, to follow like to a shadow 'midst shadows unto the sorrowing   
streets?

[they are silent -- she gestures dramatically with her hand, waving them aside]

Stay me not -- hinder me nor seek to, that did not hinder him, but led him to   
his fate and folly, that would not lose ye to the Dark, but had liefer lose me   
without backward look--

[she can't keep going for the moment]

**Finrod**: [very softly]   
Oh, I did look back--

**Amarie**:   
--and let him face me and flout me unto my very face, if he will call me foe,   
this mad japester --

[she starts towards him again, the Ten moving aside helplessly before her indignation]

--that didst leave me half-bound, half-bride, to lie at thy feet as a forgotten   
bauble cast aside by careless child -- I that had gone counter to my kindred's   
hopes and deep desirings, and set aside their wish and every will, to be his   
lady and his love, and all for naught, that he should go from me and me a-weeping   
in my festal raiment 'neath our wedding garlands in the mournful hall!

[by this point she is crying as she speaks without it interfering with her words or   
her anger -- tears run down her cheeks as she stares furiously at him -- they look   
like a pair of duellists, despite lack of weapons]

**Finrod**: [patiently (far too patiently, in fact)]   
Obviously no one in his right mind would keep on celebrating -- Acclamation or   
not -- when the Trees had just gone out. You're being utterly irrational --   
again. Should I have said, "Keep playing, keep singing, keep feasting, I'm sure   
it's nothing much?" No. Everyone in Tirion went to see what the matter was. Quite   
sensibly. --Even you, as you've just said.

[Amarie just stands there, totally speechless, listening to him in amazement]

Why do you insist on bringing your family's long-standing disapproval of me   
into it, as if that had anything to do with the slaughter of the Trees, or any   
relevance to the events of that Night? You keep trying to fit it all together   
backwards, somehow. And I was perfectly willing to change the date -- you were   
the one who made your parents choose between attending our Acclamation and   
participating in the concert -- after we found out about the scheduling conflict.   
And afterwards when I came back -- as I'd promised -- to conclude the ceremony   
-- you hit me.

**Amarie**: [snapping]   
Aye, and I'll so again, and gladly, till thou dost weep e'en as I -- if thou'lt   
not for very shame at putting me to shame.

**Finrod**: [offhand]   
I've given up expecting rational behaviour from someone whose response to getting   
what she asked for is violent rejection. --You keep changing modes and pronouns   
in your address, too.

[she moves for him as he is speaking]

**Beren**: [in the process of stepping between them, gives Finrod a shocked look]   
--You did what?!?

[they both freeze, staring at him, as he stands half-turned from Amarie to Finrod]

I didn't really hear you say that, did I? You really walked out on her halfway   
through the wedding and expected she'd welcome you back after with open arms?

[Finrod is speechless]

Don't tell me you did that and then said, "Okay, honey, let's go to bed and   
in the morning we'll become fugitives"--!

**Finrod**: [reflexive defensiveness]   
There wasn't going to be a morning at that point.

**Beren**: [shaking his head in astonishment]   
No wonder she punched you halfway across the dinner table!

**Finrod**: [dismayed]   
Beren, not you too!

**Beren**: [grabbing his shoulder]   
But you can't do that to someone! Don't you understand? We had wars over people   
doing that. You never said you jilted her!

**Finrod**:   
Wars?

**Amarie**:   
"Jilted?"

**Finrod**:   
Wars?!

**Beren**:   
Six or seven people got killed and five barns were burnt and a fishing weir   
pulled down and the cattle raids didn't stop until your brothers showed up and   
four generations later there were still families not speaking to each other--

[getting quieter]

--and I guess that's really pretty lame of a war -- but still.

**Finrod**: [still skeptical]   
I never heard about that.

**Beren**:   
You think anyone was going to want to explain it?

**Finrod**: [to the Captain]   
Did you know about this?

**Captain**: [shrugs]   
I do recall thinking that the stories about the Summer with Five Direct   
Lightning Strikes and a Flash Flood seemed a bit implausible and that your   
brothers seemed rather blasé about so many unlucky coincidences, which would   
seem to indicate stepped-up Enemy activity -- but everything seemed under   
control and everyone very anxious not to get into it, and since you hadn't   
given us orders to investigate it, we presumed it was something better left   
unsaid, given their usual level of caution and alertness regarding the War.

**Finrod**: [switching from disbelief to indignation]   
Why didn't they tell me?

**Captain**: [utterly bland]   
I would have to ask them to find out, Sire.

**Steward**:   
--However, at a reasonable guess, they might well have felt awkward in mentioning   
such a -- sensitive topic, quite apart from the embarrassment of having lost order   
and control in territories still technically under their authority, though no   
longer under the Princes' direct control.

[Finrod bites his lip, looking away]

**Beren**:   
See, there was this one time when there was supposed to be a wedding, and everyone   
was there, and she never showed up, and people got worried because there was a lot   
of snow that winter--

**Finrod**: [interrupting]   
--You never celebrated Acclamations in winter--

**Beren**: [patiently]   
No, this was spring, but there was a lot of runoff because of the snow that   
winter. And because the bride's party never showed up, they thought maybe there   
was a landslide or a flash flood or something, or maybe a bridge was down and   
they couldn't make it, or maybe even an Enemy raid had slipped through the   
eastern pass again, and there were search parties getting ready, and then someone   
brought the word that she'd gone off with someone else and married him instead,   
and since there was already everybody armed up and ready to go, it just -- went   
on from there. And my great-great-grandfather had to try to break it up, and he   
did, and we even contributed to the damages fund so that there wouldn't be any   
excuse for fighting over bride-price and dowry, but it kept breaking out again   
because everyone was so insulted.

[to Amarie, who is listening with fascinated horror]

--When I say "we" I mean my family, because I wasn't born yet then. I remember   
Ma saying that it was really stupid that she let it get that far, because   
obviously it wasn't going to work and they should have known that before the   
bridal ale was laid down, because you don't go and marry someone else at the last   
minute who's a random stranger -- she shouldn't ever have said yes if she really   
didn't want to go through with it, let alone if there was anybody else who was   
in the running -- but the humiliation factor of leaving your intended standing   
at the hall-door couldn't be an accident. That's why it went to a war. That, and   
the fact that her whole family's cooperation was involved, obviously.

[silence]

**Amarie:**   
Must e'en thou deride me, mortal killer?!

**Beren**: [confused]   
Ah, no -- that's just the way it happened.

**Amarie**:   
. . .

**Captain**:   
Milady, if the Lord of Dorthonion were mocking you -- there would be no   
mistaking it for anything else.

**Amarie**: [through her teeth]   
I will not be made sport of by houseless rebels!

[she starts to stride towards the archway again]

**Finrod**: [calling after her in a reasonable tone]   
I'm sure that if you chose to consider it null and marry someone else, no one   
could possibly criticize you, seeing that--

[Amarie whirls and stalks towards him -- simultaneously Finrod backs up and Beren   
starts to move in between them again]

**Amarie**: [shouting]   
--But I did not want to wed any other consort!

[pause]

**Finrod**: [very quietly]   
I'm sorry.

**Amarie**:   
Hold, thou prating wretch!!!

[she resumes her trajectory and sweeps out again. There is a long, awkward silence   
-- the Ten try obviously not to be obviously present.]

**Finrod**: [brightly, to Beren]   
So now you've taken her side too.

**Beren**: [shaking his head]   
There's no sides in this.

**Finrod**:   
But you think I'm wrong.

**Beren**:   
You thought you were wrong too, that's what you used to say.

[pause]

**Finrod**:   
Why is it any different now -- or why does it appear differently now -- than   
at the beginning of the conversation?

**Beren**: [shrugs]   
It -- it's just different. It isn't like any other kind of breaking up or   
contract-ending or anything. You just have to take my word for it.

[sudden inspiration]

What you did to her -- that kind of a cut -- it was the same as Nargothrond.

[long pause]

**Finrod**:   
Nargothrond, eh?

[pause -- deceptively light tone ]

So you're saying it's hopeless.

**Beren**: [shaking head]   
No. She's talking to you. Even at second-hand -- that's a good sign. If it   
was really hopeless she wouldn't have come to tell you it was hopeless. Means   
there's room for negotiations.

**Finrod**:   
Negotiations don't always end satisfactorily -- for anyone.

**Beren**: [nods]   
I know. I'm just saying, there's a chance. You could end up the same, or you   
could make it worse even. You can't -- I can't believe I'm telling you how to   
deal with people -- but you're taking this very superior, very haughty tone,   
putting all the distance to cross on her, and you don't have that high ground.   
I mean -- Sir, you betrayed her and publicly humiliated her after she had   
already taken grief for marrying beneath her, and declared for you regardless,   
and now you're asking her to risk it again for a pardoned rebel.

**Finrod**: [stiffly]   
I'm not asking anything.

**Beren**:   
I know. That's what I'm trying to say, only it's confusing and I'm muddling   
it worse. I know it seems like she's being unreasonable right now, but you've   
put her in an unreasonable situation. No wonder you're both stuck -- you're   
making her come and bend the knee without giving anything in return.

**Finrod**: [more haughty]   
I apologized.

**Beren**:   
You ripped her heart out and threw it in the mud! And stomped on it a couple   
times. You don't just say, "Sorry about that, I'm willing to forget about it   
if you are" --!

[someone quickly stifles a nervous laugh; long pause]

**Finrod**:   
So you're saying that I ought to abase myself thoroughly, grovel even, spare   
no opportunity to castigate myself before her . . . ?

**Beren**:   
No, Sir. That would just be doing the same thing another way. If you aren't   
sincere -- don't you think she'll be able to tell? If you're just acting like   
she's being cruel but you're willing to suffer and put up with it, that's just   
claiming you're in the right as much as the other. Only you'll make it worse,   
because you'll make it look like she's being unjust.

**Finrod**:   
What else could I have done? You remember the stories about that insanity,   
the outcry, the chaos, even before Feanor showed up to throw flames into   
spilt oil -- how should I have acted? What should I have done?

**Beren**: [bluntly]   
Something that wasn't what you did.

[Finrod glares at him]

I -- I'm sorry, I -- it's beyond arrogant for me to lecture you about your   
own folk. I really -- don't know that any of this is true for anyone besides   
Men . . .

[long pause]

**Finrod**:   
Your people have a word for it. The wise listen to experience.

[sighing]

--Cut off, pinned down, and no high ground -- can you get me out of this Fen,   
Beor?

[Beren looks dismayed]

If you can break us free of the trap we've driven ourselves into, you'll render   
me a greater service than did your father.

**Beren**:   
Uh--

**Finrod**:   
Because I can't. I keep saying the same damned things -- or thinking them --   
and we just repeat the measure again and again. Even when it's only in my   
imagining -- and then it plays out exactly as I've Seen it, right up to the   
point when you jump in between and change it all.

[pause]

**Beren**:   
Sir -- my own relationship has not been the smoothest, to put it bluntly.

**Finrod**: [mildly]   
You two are still speaking to each other, last time I checked. --I'm not asking   
you to do the impossible, Beren -- no, I am rather, at that -- Only to try.

[Beren laughs helplessly, shaking his head]

**Beren**:   
Of course. If you're sure. --You know what happens to my projects.

**Finrod**:   
--Expansion of scope far beyond any reasonable assessment, followed by utter   
chaos, culminating in divine intervention? --I'm counting on it.

[sighing]

New plan. You do whatever you want. I'm not going to tell you what to do or what   
not to do. Save this -- if you need help, summon me. If you think you might need   
help -- summon me. If you're not sure -- likewise.

[He turns back to the fountain and washes his face before picking up the harp again.   
Sitting down on one of the boulders along the margin he begins to play quietly again,   
ignoring -- apparently -- everything else. Beren looks after him, worried]

**Beren**:   
Is he going to be okay?

**Captain**:   
He needs time alone. It's been a difficult thing to come by, these past ten years.

[pause]

That was impressive, you getting in between them like that.

**Beren**: [shaking his head]   
Dumb, you mean. It didn't even occur to me that -- well, that we're just ghosts   
and she couldn't've done anything to him.

**Captain**:   
Then that only makes it more courageous.

**Beren**:   
But she couldn't really touch us, right? That's what she told Tinuviel.

**Captain**:   
In theory, no. It's never been put to the test, though.

**Fourth Guard**:   
--So far as anyone knows. Not here. And no one's asked the houseless in Beleriand   
what it's like to have someone walk through you. It -- it just wasn't the sort of   
thing one asked.

**Steward**:   
--Not to mention the fact that on such rare occasions the mind was occupied in   
fighting or trying to free them.

**Captain**:   
--Yes, but wouldn't it have seemed crass in any case?

**Steward**: [nodding agreement]   
One assumes there could be no contact at all, but it doesn't seem as though it   
could be anything but disturbing.

**Soldier**:   
--And we're not really sure what might happen if the soul of someone living   
collided with someone discorporate. There's speculation that it might be like   
getting hit by lightning, only without the subsequent discorporation--

**Steward**:   
--obviously--

**Ranger**:   
--When did you get hit by lightning?

**Soldier**:   
Stop it--

**Ranger**:   
No, really, how else would one know it was like getting hit by lightning, if one   
hadn't experienced that?

**Captain**:   
There's also speculation that it wouldn't have any result if the corporate didn't   
believe in the discorporate's, hm, presence? --reality?

**Beren**:   
But how can you be trying to hit someone if you don't think they're really there?

**Captain**: [shrugs]   
That's probably not the best description. I'm not sure that you've got the   
concepts to understand the terminology, sorry. --Mind you, I'm not sure that   
I've got them, myself.

**Warrior**:   
And then there is also the corollary, which is that if someone believed that   
one was, er, real, or enough, then the reverse would be true.

**Beren**:   
So what you're saying is that if someone alive didn't have doubts like Amarie   
said about it being possible, maybe they would . . . um . . . stop, at the . . .   
edges? "Mental boundaries" maybe?

[reaches over and taps the Warrior's arm]

--Like we do?

[nods all round]

But it could be that having someone living walk through you or bust your jaw for   
that matter -- might be like having a pail of ice water thrown at you or something.

**Captain**: [shrugs]   
It might only be like a mild breeze.

**Steward**:   
Under the circumstances one can but fervently hope so.

**Beren**:   
But nobody knows because you haven't tested it.

[deadpan]

--Wow, I'm surprised.

**Third Guard**:   
Well, how would we?

**Captain**:   
The staff already think we're lunatics as it is. Can you really see asking Lord   
Namo or his Lady to not walk around us because we want to see what an intersection   
experience is like?

**Steward**:   
Lady Nia might oblige.

**Captain**:   
Do you want to ask her? I'd be embarrassed.

**Warrior**:   
Besides, it might not mean anything anyway. The gods already walk in this plane,   
so it probably wouldn't be a valid test.

**Fourth Guard**:   
What about that kid who's working for her?

**Captain**:   
You ask.

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Same problem, anyway.

**Soldier**: [aside]   
We think, at any rate.

**Beren**:   
So we're just going to have to wonder, since it hasn't happened yet, when two   
spirits -- intersect? -- what happens then.

**Ranger**:   
But it's possible--

[breaks off]

**Beren**:   
What?

**Captain**:   
Don't -- he'll come undone again.

**Beren**:   
What?

[pause]

**Captain**: [reluctantly]   
It's possible you already have. We don't know if they drift aside like a leaf   
in front of a boat's prow, or -- or not. The ones who won't come out of hiding   
at all. We don't even know how diffuse their consciousness is. Since we can't   
ask them -- we're left to speculate.

**Youngest Ranger**:   
That's not true, Sir, the King's asked them, they just won't answer.

**Captain**:   
That's what I just said, isn't it? "The ones who won't come out of hiding at all."

**Beren**: [distressed]   
Please -- don't snap at each other.

**Youngest Ranger**:   
We're all on edge because we're worried for you.

**Captain**:   
And the ones who have left off moping don't want to talk about being dissipated   
either. Or they don't remember. Even Himself isn't sure if he really stayed in the   
corner all that time, or if it's an imagining and not a memory of being in a haze   
of grief.

**Beren**: [bluntly]   
So what you're saying is I could have walked through who knows how many other   
ghosts already.

**Youngest Ranger**:   
--Please don't get upset again.

[pause]

**Beren**: [half-smiles at them]   
Okay.

[he sighs, shakes his head, and looks away.]

**Second Guard**: [helpfully]   
Do you want to try working on your combat skills? We can help you with the   
retraining.

**Beren**: [bitter]   
Waste of time, if I'm just going to be kicked out of the world.

**Captain**:   
You don't know that it will work out that way. We're hoping for the best.

**Soldier**: [encouragingly]   
It'll be great to have you on our side for the next one. There's been talk about   
doing the First Battle, and it's starting to sound like it might happen finally.

**Second Guard**:   
Besides, it'll make the time pass quicker.

**Steward**: [ironic]   
--That is to say, it may make it seem to do so.

**Beren**: [tearful frustration]   
No. I've tried. I can't do it.

[He looks down, thoroughly embarrassed, while they look at him helplessly -- long pause]

**Fourth Guard**: [intensely]   
Okay.

[he touches Beren's shoulder.]

--It's okay.

[Beren nods, still not able to speak]

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Do you want to play chess?

**Beren**: [after a moment]   
Okay.

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Do you care what we use?

**Beren**:   
No. Why?

**Youngest Ranger**:   
I was just wondering . . . pebbles sometimes roll off their places. You don't   
mind if I make a set, do you?

**Beren**:   
That's fine -- go ahead and do it the way you want.

[he watches in bemusement as the other manifests a tafl board and pieces, setting   
them down on the floor by the edge of the pool on a convenient bit of the "ledges"   
that now make up the vicinity, and picks up one with a wondering smile]

It even feels heavy.

**Youngest Ranger**:   
That's because you know how heavy stone's supposed to be. You can't fool   
yourself here.

**Beren**: [speculatively]   
Other people, though.

**Youngest Ranger**: [nods]   
Sometimes. It depends. You want to go first?

**Soldier**: [to the Youngest Ranger]   
You know, I'm not trying to denigrate your work -- it's very fine and   
naturalistic, but it really doesn't fit just jammed up there against the   
flat wall like that. It looks strange.

**Youngest Ranger**:   
It wasn't done for looks. Go ahead and fix it if you think you can come up   
with something better. It'll have to be taken down eventually anyway.

**Soldier**:   
What about some kind of surround or framing device to gradually bring it   
to the level of the facing?

**Youngest Ranger**:   
I'm playing chess. I don't care. Just remember that you'll find out what your   
fate is that's worse than death if another pipe gets broken. And I won't take   
the blame for that.

**Soldier**:   
Spoilsport.

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Who was it vanished when the sconce broke?

**Soldier**:   
Yes, but I came right back. You only noticed because you were trying to hide   
behind me anyway. --You know that only makes it more obvious that you're   
trying not to be noticed.

**Ranger**: [to his colleague]   
You want to make a bet on whether he breaks something?

**Youngest Ranger**: [patiently]   
No, I want to play mortal chess with Beren. I think I've got a workable   
strategy I want to try.

**Ranger**: [to the Soldier]   
Why don't you make a frieze around it, really low-relief, that has a scene of   
a forest, and then it wouldn't look like rocks coming out of nowhere?

**Soldier**: I thought a semi-naturalistic surround, like a doorway, myself.

**Ranger**:   
Won't that just look as though you've got three incompatible things grafted   
together?

**Soldier**:   
No, see, if I do this--

[they go over & start sketching on the wall surface in the background, while the   
others settle down to watch them (and give more advice) or to watch the chess game,   
all very carefully not intruding on Finrod's privacy.]

**Beren**: [thoughtfully]   
You know, you could have some of you . . . vanish, and see what happens if   
somebody walks through you, and then compare observations after. Couldn't you?

[pause]

**Youngest Ranger**:   
I don't think any of us is really that curious. Not even him. --Your move.

* * *

**SCENE III.iii.**

  


[Elsewhere: the council chamber]

[Luthien is sitting down again, but on the edge of her seat as though at any moment   
she's going to be up again, glaring furiously at a new Elven-shade, a distinguished   
and serious looking fellow who was one of the many bystanders in Act I at the court   
of Doriath. He could be played by Anthony Stewart Head, (courtesy of Mutant Enemy   
Productions) and at the moment he's looking extremely distressed.]

**Ambassador**:   
I cannot begin to express how grieved I am, Princess, to discover that after   
all our efforts to keep you safe, and all the improbable escapes and scrapes   
you managed to get out of, you have ended up here all the same.

**Luthien**: [shortly]   
Well, I'm not particularly happy to see you either.

**Ambassador**:   
That's a terribly harsh thing to say after I got killed trying to secure   
help and justice on your behalf.

[shaking his head sadly]

I would never have expected such callousness and lack of nobility from that   
sweet child you used to be. It's got to be the influence of that repulsive   
Man corrupting you.

[Luthien's eyes blaze. Slowly and deliberately and ominously she gets up and   
paces over towards him -- as he leans back nervously we get a glimpse of what   
Sauron might have seen coming for him on the Bridge -- and stands in front of   
him with an icy look of righteous indignation]

**Luthien**:   
You told Dad to lock me up in Hirilorn.

**Ambassador**:   
I wasn't the only one!

**Luthien**: [grim]   
Oh, believe me, I know.

**Vaire**: [to Namo]   
You know, darling, I'm not sure this was such a good idea. Even if it was mine.

* * *

**SCENE III.iv**

[The Hall.]

[The scene has not changed much from before -- there is now a complicated and   
ever-changing tracery of light on the back wall as various people contribute   
ideas and erase bits from the sketch, but otherwise the subdued, yet casual   
ambience remains the same, another chessboard has been set up, Huan is being   
happily used as a backrest, and Finrod is still seated off a short ways from   
everyone else, so quietly that he would almost seem in a sleep-trance, if he   
weren't playing steadily in a very wistful, almost Mixolydian-mode progression   
of runs and bell-like changes. ("The Last Rose of Summer" and "Scotland the   
Brave" are both Mixolydian, combining what we think of as major and minor.)   
His lieges, for all their relaxation, are also very carefully maintaining a   
perimeter around Beren -- so that when the Princes return, still looking for   
their brother (now having had time to work up a proper righteous huff about   
Beren's presence) the alert and defense are instant.]

**Third Guard**: [warning tone]   
Sire--

[the rest of the Ten, and Huan, tense -- all attention goes between Finrod and   
Beren, as the King gives him a serious questioning Look. Beren, meeting his   
stare directly, shakes his head, and after a moment Finrod nods in acceptance.   
Everyone stays "at ease" (on the surface, that is) as the other two sons of   
Finarfin -- after doing a severe double take at the changes, reorient themselves   
and come over to the waterfall.]

**Angrod**: [acridly]   
I don't want to know.

**Aegnor**: [with a sarcastic smile -- he seems to have gotten hold of himself for the present]   
Unfortunately I doubt very much that will be possible for very long.   
--Finrod, what the bloody blazes is this nonsense? I thought you weren't   
allowed to do this kind of thing any more.

[Finrod doesn't answer, apparently not aware of them -- Aegnor snorts in disgust.]

Again -- what in Morgoth's name is all this madness about?

[no answer still]

--Are you having a relapse, or what?

[they start to approach his refuge -- the Steward gets up and blocks them.]   
  
**Steward**:   
I am afraid I must inform you that King Felagund is not admitting visitors   
at the present moment. I am certain, however, that as soon as he is no   
longer preoccupied he will be most willing to meet with you.

**Aegnor**:   
But we're his brothers!

**Steward**: [bowing slightly]   
I believe that I am as aware of that fact as he, or you twain.

**Aegnor**:   
You've never blocked us from seeing him in the past!

**Steward**:   
It has never been necessary to protect him from you in the past.

**Aegnor**:   
You don't--

**Angrod**: [interrupting]   
What do you mean, protect him from us?

**Steward**: [cold]   
Your wrath precedes you like the smell of burning and wraps you like a   
cloud of smoke. I won't have you harassing him with any of you in your   
present tempers. There's been enough distressing him tod-- lately.

**Angrod**: [nodding towards Beren, whom they have been ignoring]   
And the reason for it's squatting on the floor right there. We're not   
the problem -- that one is.

**Steward**: [adamant]   
Leave The Beoring alone.

**Aegnor**:   
You're still protecting him! Do you know how perverse that is?

**Steward**:   
Your Highnesses -- I have warned you. Follow this path and the consequences   
be upon your own head.

[they check briefly, looking somewhat worried at the vague prediction.]

**Angrod**:   
What consequences?

**Steward**: [shrugging]   
That remains -- to be seen.

**Angrod**: [disgusted snort]   
You're just being cryptic to make us think you actually know something.

**Steward**:   
That is a possibility.

[the Princes circle around to where Beren is still engaged in his match,   
though everyone else -- with the exception of Finrod -- has left off even   
pretense of their pastimes and is watching closely]

**Aegnor**:   
If it were in point of fact possible to speak one false here, I'd think you   
made up that story about Amarie. I've not seen anyone who oughtn't be here   
-- except for that one.

**Beren**: [conversationally]   
You missed her. She's been and gone again.

[at this escalation they stop in their stalking and halt a little ways off.   
The Youngest Ranger ducks down almost to his knees, staring at the kingstone   
pieces as if they might hold a rescue in them. Beren reaches over and pokes   
his hand]

You forgot to take the other piece.

[distractedly his companion collects the pawn from the board]

**Aegnor**: [pleasantly]   
I really did expect something a bit more prepossessing, after all the   
stories and so forth. Not this pathetic collection of rags-and-tatters   
incapable of buckling his own belt..   
  
[there is a long hair-raising growl from Huan and some metallic noises as   
blades are drawn, or half-drawn around them]

**Third Guard**: [iron]   
Don't make fun of that.

[there is a very uncomfortable pause -- the Princes only now noticing Beren's   
disability, and being somewhat abashed at their faux pas]

**Fourth Guard**: [choked]   
You should apologize . . .Your Highness.

**Beren**: [cool, but commanding]   
'Sokay. --Actually, that I can manage by myself. There's a lot of things   
I can't do one-handed, but I don't need my wife to do everything for me.

**Aegnor**:   
What . . . befell your sword-hand?

**Beren**:   
Long story. You missed that one too. If you want to actually sit down and   
listen I'm sure someone would be happy to fill you in, but I'm kind of beat   
right now and I don't really want to go through it all over again. Also,   
I admit that it's kind of embarrassing that the only time in the last nine   
years I've had clean clothes that actually fit was after I was dead, but   
you know, I never planned on having my homeland overrun and everything I   
owned destroyed or lost or stolen -- "hunted outlaw" was not my first career   
choice, so far as I had my life planned.

[long pause]

**Angrod**:   
Aren't you ashamed to sit amidst this present company and smirk and   
speak thus presumptuously?

**Beren**:   
Nope.

[pause]

I'm not ashamed of any of my friends.

**Angrod**:   
It is simply grotesque -- that all of you together should enjoy his favour.

[looks challengingly over at Finrod, who continues as if oblivious to their presence]

**Captain**: [easily]   
One consequence might be to make me reconsider my resolution against   
challenging you, my lord.

**Angrod**:   
Why are you still protecting him?

**Captain**: [shrugging]   
Why stop now?

**Beren**:   
Just to be perfectly clear -- I didn't ask anyone to stick up for me.

**Aegnor**: [nodding towards his oldest sibling]   
I'm surprised he isn't leaping in to defend you again.

**Beren**: [moving a piece]   
I told him not to.

[to his opponent]

--Path.

[silence]

**Angrod**:   
You -- told him not to--?!?

**Beren**:   
Yep.

[to the Youngest Ranger]

Your move. --Don't let 'em rattle you.

[as the other looks up nervously again and then hunkers down]

**Angrod**:   
Shouldn't that be -- asked, at the very least?

[Beren shakes his head, still studying the board]

**Beren**:   
No, he asked me if he should and I told him no. --Not in so many words.

**Angrod**:   
Aren't you ashamed to share the same Circle with him? Far less to continue   
sponging off his good will and sympathies?

[Beren doesn't say anything, only making a move now it's his turn]

--If you really claim lordship of Dorthonion, then you ought to remember   
that part of that is submission in the chain of command to Aegnor and myself.

[Beren sighs and looks up at him]

**Beren**:   
Look, I'm sorry you guys got killed at the Bragollach. And I'm sorry you--

[to Aegnor]

--ditched my aunt An' and never made it up with her and it's too late now.   
But you know, I didn't have anything to do with all that, and -- guess what,   
he's right, they're not my problems, really. And I don't feel guilty about   
them.

[silence]

**Angrod**:   
--What about our brother?

[pause]

**Beren**:   
Yeah.

[pause]

But it's not like anything could ever stop him from helping me.

**Angrod**:   
You could have not gone to him in the first place. Is that not the truth,   
--Beor?

**Beren**: [nods]   
--If there was anyone else I could have gone to. But everyone else who owes   
me favors is either dead and long gone, or long gone and maybe dead.

**Aegnor**: [fiercely]   
You were still free not to involve him.

[pause]

**Beren**:   
Maybe so. Maybe I should've just walked away from Tinuviel and left her   
in Neldoreth and disappeared out of her life. But I couldn't do that.   
Maybe it was mortal weakness.

[shrugs]

I'm not you. --I'm not even Noldor, which could be part of it, as my wife   
has pointed out, since she--

[after the first sentence Aegnor, after a second for this to sink in, starts to   
lunge for him. The Youngest Ranger, still looking apprehensive and conflicted,   
stands up and blocks him. As they stand confronted, the others close in a tight   
cordon and wall between the Princes and Beren. Huan follows them, to stand leaning   
over Beren's shoulder, panting -- and showing an awful lot of teeth.]

**Angrod**:   
You disgusting parasite. --What have you done to trap so many of your betters   
into serving you?

[this being unanswerable, Beren just looks at him through the rank of defenders,   
not giving any ground]

**Captain**:   
Milords. We've heard this song, and it's getting very boring. If you keep   
insisting on afflicting us with this tune, we may be compelled to give your   
thirsty invention some fresh inspiration.

**Aegnor**:   
What are you talking about?

**Captain**:   
--Or cool your fiery humours, as the case may be.

**Aegnor**:   
Talk sense, or don't talk at all!

**Captain**: [nods towards the waterfall's pool]   
I mean, my lords, we'll pitch you in at the deep end.

[pause]

**Aegnor**:   
There isn't a deep end in these little fishless fishponds.

**Soldier**:   
There is now, milord. From erosion caused by the force of water.

**Angrod**:   
It hasn't been that long--!

**Ranger**:   
--Verisimilitude.

**Aegnor**: [nodding towards their eldest brother]   
You're all as daft as he is.

**Captain**: [offhand]   
Quite so -- and a lot more of us than there are of you.

[The Princes look at the intervening rank and think about it]

**Angrod**: [to Finrod]   
Are you going to stand by and allow this?

**Finrod**: [sets down the harp, lifting his hands]   
What makes you think I have any control over it? This is not Beleriand.   
Father's King over the Noldor now, and if Grandfather hadn't refused    
to interact with anyone, he, not I, would be possessed of such shadowy   
authority as our Lord and Lady are gracious to permit within these halls   
-- and since Feanor's so crazy that not even his own people here can deal   
with him, that falls instead to the High King, so far as he cares to   
exercise it.

**Angrod**: [biting]   
You're lecturing us like little kids, --Ingold.

[Finrod shrugs again]

**Finrod**:   
I might not be king, but I am still your older brother.

[pause -- his siblings give him disgruntled glares]

**Aegnor**: [suddenly]   
You died because of him!

**Finrod**:   
And with him.

**Aegnor**:   
And that should make any difference?

**Finrod**: [meaningfully]   
You ought to be able to answer that as well as I.

[edged tolerant tone]

--Why don't you two run along now and find something harmless to amuse   
yourselves with? Go pick fights with the Formenos lot or play some chess   
with our uncle, if you can't think of anything constructive to do.

[he picks up with the music again -- this time it's a lot quicker and brighter:   
closer to "The Minstrel Boy" instead of "Last Rose of Summer."]

**Angrod**:   
Stop treating us like children!

**Finrod**:   
Stop acting like them, then. I expect better of you than this.

[there is a brief staring contest, before the younger Finarfinions break off   
and turn to leave, still indignant]

**Angrod**: [parting shot mode]   
Are you sure he really is a Beoring? He doesn't look much like one.

[Finrod scowls, but shakes his head when several of the Ten silently offer to   
go after the Princes for that. There is a general sigh of relief and nervous   
humour, once they are gone, and everyone settles back down.]

**Captain**: [sitting down on Beren's other side, scratching Huan behind the foreleg]   
You were very restrained when he insulted your mother. Most mortals I've   
known wouldn't have been so detatched.

**Beren**: [sighing]   
He wasn't really.

[to the Youngest Ranger, who is frowning hard at the board now]

Did you go yet?

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Er -- they rattled me. Sorry.

**Beren**:   
Me too. Take your time.

[to the Captain]

Verbal attacking when you feel guilty doesn't seem to be just a human   
trait, huh?

[he sighs again]

That's why they never visited Dorthonion in my lifetime, isn't it? It wasn't   
just that it didn't seem like a long time between visits to them.

**Captain**:   
Ah . . .

**Beren**:   
I take it that's a yes.

**Captain**:   
Yes.

[he grimaces, shaking his head a little, looking off into the distance]

**Beren**:   
Would it make you feel better if I yelled at you some?

[the Captain raises his eyebrows, and Beren gives him a quizzical look back   
for a moment, then shakes his head]

Sorry, I just can't make myself do it.

**Captain**: [quietly]   
I'll try to forgive you.

[Beren holds out his hand]

**Beren**:   
Don't joggle me this time, okay?

[the Captain opens and passes him the flask. Deliberately, with a wicked glint:]

--To your very good health, my lord.

[he drinks and hands it back]

**Captain**:   
And to your own, my lord.

[he toasts Beren in turn, laughing gently at them both.]

Shall we be singing comic songs, next?

**Beren**: [shrugs]   
Maybe later. If we feel like it then. --You know, I didn't realize that   
wasn't just wine until I finally had some in Menegroth. Then I remembered   
what wine was supposed to taste like, and I figured out that what he'd   
given me must have been the magic cordial of the Elves.

**Captain**: [snorting]   
You and "magic"--!

[Beren grins]

--Are you . . . all right, now?

**Beren**:   
Yeah. --Mostly.

[pause]

Yourself?

**Captain**: [equal honesty]   
Mostly.

**Beren**: [nodding toward Finrod]   
Why did he call him Ingold?

[brief pause]

**Captain**:   
Because it's one of his names.

**Beren**:   
Yes, but he said it like it meant something. --Particular.

[pause -- the Captain looks over his shoulder to Finrod]

**Captain**:   
Do you want to explain it yourself, Sire, or shall I?

[Finrod nods towards him, without breaking his play, but with a look of barely   
concealed amusement]

"Ingold" is an after-name -- you know about those.

**Beren**: [nodding in turn]   
Like Tinuviel. Or me calling myself "Empty-handed." --Or Felagund.

**Captain**:   
Yes, but Ingold is different from those examples. It -- it's the name Lady   
Earwen gave to him.

**Beren**: [frowning]   
There's something about mother-names, isn't there? They're supposed to say   
something about you, or something, right?

**Steward**:   
Put with admirably-vague conciseness.

[he is amused by all this too]

**Captain**: [nodding]   
Such as their mother's oft-repeated remark in answer to congratulations   
on a daughter at last, that no, really she had five sons, only one of them   
happened to be female. Of course, you can never be quite sure if things   
like that only reflect the future, or shape it, what with people's   
expectations.

**Beren**:   
So what's it mean? His nickname, I mean.

[Finrod's chief counsellors exchange a sly look, and the Steward starts to speak,   
but then Beren interrupts]

--Wait, wait, I think I figured it out.

[he looks rather smug]

It's the same as the word "ingole," isn't it? -- that means lore, right?

**Steward**: [gravely]   
"Ingole" means lore, yes.

**Beren**:   
But am I right about how it's the same?

**Steward**:   
Mainly. They are close akin. Ingole is more general, ingold more specific.

[at Beren's frown]

It's a personal form, but it's essentially the same as the singular of "Noldor."

[Beren nods in satisfaction]

**Beren**: [sudden direct look to Finrod]   
She called you the same thing we did. --Basically.

[Finrod nods again, with a rueful smile.]

No wonder you said it freaked you out when we called you "Wisdom." I bet you   
weren't expecting that.

**Finrod**:   
Be fair -- I was still rather unsettled from having been told, somewhat   
insistently, that I was a god -- as if I might be mistaken about it, somehow.

**Beren**: [deadpan]   
Are you sure about that, Sir?

[there is a loud jangling discord, and Beren grins, if a bit shyly still]

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Um -- "Field," -- I think. --Sorry.

**Beren**: [after looking at the board]   
Hey, that's good. Set 'em up again?

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Okay.

[behind them all Finrod carries on his music, looking over his band of loyallists   
with an expression that is at once proud and considering, calm but very serious   
in his composure. Yes, he is still very much the King, whether he likes it or not.]   


* * *

**SCENE III.v**

  
  


[Elsewhere: the council chamber]

[Luthien is sitting on the floor next to her chair with her back against it and   
her arms wrapped around her knees, not looking at all happy, cooperative or   
diplomatic. Everyone else looks equally frustrated at this point]

**Vaire**: [to her husband]   
I hope your idea works better than mine.

**Namo**: [nursing his teacup and looking moodily into its depths]   
Me too.

**Luthien**: [exclaiming loudly to the ceiling]   
This is so tiresome! Why can't you even let Beren be here to speak for himself?

**Irmo**:   
You'd only fight with him, don't you think? After all, that's what you two   
have been doing ever since you rescued him. That alone should make it clear   
that you're not really intended for each other, I should say.

[three of the four other Powers present nod in agreement; Aule looks distinctly   
uncomfortable.]

**Luthien**:   
That's just because of the way things were happening. It didn't really mean   
anything.

**Orome**:   
You could have fooled us.

[she gives him a disgruntled look and tosses her head]

**Ambassador**:   
Besides, you must see that he's responsible for all of your unhappiness, no   
matter how much you'd like to pretend otherwise, my dear.

[aside]

And everyone else's as well.

**Luthien**: [hotly]   
That's not true! Not even Mablung blamed him for any of it, not even about   
Carcaroth.

[the Ambassador flinches visibly at the mention of the Wolf.]

**Ambassador**:   
How -- is -- Captain Mablung doing? --When you last saw him, of course.

**Luthien**: [shrugging]   
Weakened by his wounds, sick with werewolf venom, and heartsick over the fact   
that he failed three times at his job.

**Ambassador**:   
Failed --? I'm afraid I don't understand what you're referring to, Princess.

**Luthien**:   
Not keeping me safe, not keeping you safe, and not keeping Dad safe. The   
last time I saw him he was terribly upset that Beren got killed doing his   
work for him.

[silence]

**Ambassador**:   
Surely -- I've misunderstood. You didn't say--

**Luthien**:   
--that Beren got killed guarding my father from Carcaroth. Yes.

**Ambassador**:   
But Elu -- that is to say -- everyone knows that--

**Luthien**: [caustic]   
--that Dad wanted Beren dead. I know. So did he.

**Ambassador**:   
Then . . . why . . . . ?

**Luthien**: [slow emphasis]   
Because that's the kind of person he is. Things beginning to make more   
sense now?

**Ambassador**:   
No. Less, rather, I'm afraid.

[shaking his head]

I'm not entirely used to this changed state yet.

**Luthien**: [snorts]   
Give me a break. I've been dead less time than you have, and I'm not making   
a fuss about it.

**Namo**:   
Yes, but you're Melian's daughter. Your divine side doesn't require a   
material presence, so it doesn't trouble you the way it would most people.   
--Such as your husband.

[she rolls her eyes, while the Doriathrin Lord twitches at that last word "husband."]

* * *

**SCENE III.vi**

  
  


[The Hall]

[Beren is about to start a new game, when one of the royal Guard comes over and   
interrupts them:]

**Second Guard**:   
Hey, what's this about someone actually beating Barahirion at mortal chess?   
That's a joke, right?

**Beren**: [nodding towards the Sindarin Ranger]   
Nope, he took the field last match.

**Second Guard**:   
Then it has to be some kind of weird anomaly. Nobody beats you at kingstone.

**Youngest Ranger**:   
It wasn't a random occurrence. I've got a strategy.

**Second Guard**: [tapping Beren on the shoulder]   
Here -- let me play this one, will you? I want to see this new set of tactics.

**Beren**: [obligingly]   
Okay.

[he moves over and lets the other take his place. To the Warrior, who is next to   
him, having been watching the last game:]

It sure is a lot easier when you actually have something in front of you,   
instead of just trying to keep it all straight in your head.

**Warrior**:   
Indeed.

**Beren**: [wry smile]   
Even if it isn't real.

**Warrior**: [shrugs]   
It seems real enough, for the present, and that's all that matters.

**Beren**:   
You want your coat back?

[he reaches up to work off the other's cape, which he has still kept]

**Warrior**:   
Not necessary--

[there is a flicker over his appearance as when Luthien first arrived, and he is   
wearing his again]

**Beren**: [blinking]   
I'm not going to get used to that. Even if nothing should surprise me after   
I was -- you'd think I'd get over all these mortal reactions.

[shaking his head]

So your weapons seem just as real as this--

[rubbing at the hem of the cloak]

--even when they hit, I take it?

**Warrior**: [wincing]   
Oh, very much yes. Especially then.

**Beren**:   
So, how does it work? Or when you get -- killed, here? --Commander wasn't   
joking about cutting people's hands off for hitting the King, was he?

[the cavalry officer shakes his head]

But it doesn't -- stay that way, does it?

**Warrior**:   
It stays until you let yourself disperse, and reappear again. That was the   
problem at first, why we had to make so many rules and do so many practices   
before we could try the Sudden Flame -- people couldn't grasp that it wasn't   
fair to just reappear and start fighting again after getting run through or   
decapitated. Or losing something. But finally everyone admitted that it really   
was more fun to do it the real way.

**Beren**:   
So you don't have to -- vanish, then, if you've been hit?

**Warrior**:   
No. That's why people who've actually been injured and recovered in Beleriand   
have a huge advantage over the chaps who just got killed outright. We know   
what it feels like, and how to keep going. Once you leave the field, though,   
you're off until the battle's over.

**Beren**:   
So how . . . ?

**Warrior**:   
It's a matter of remembering how it should go, not what just happened to you.   
Just the same as this--

[he reaches over and pins the brooch on Beren's copy of his cape correctly]

**Beren**: [not offended]   
Thanks.

**Warrior**:   
You know . . . I should tend to think that it would be possible for you as   
well. It -- it isn't as if you were--

[grimacing involuntarily]

--born that way--

[he very lightly brushes Beren's wrist -- the other pulls back, gripping his stump   
tightly with his left hand.]

**Beren**:   
No.

[less harsh-sounding]

I wouldn't begin to know how.

**Fourth Guard**:   
Know what? I wasn't paying attention.

**Warrior**:   
Restore himself, so that he doesn't have to do without his hand.

**Fourth Guard**: [interested and hopeful]   
Could you?

**Beren**: [shaking his head]   
If I . . . let myself go . . . I might not be able to come back. Or stay here.

**Fourth Guard**:   
But why not? It isn't hard--

**Beren**: [slowly]   
I'm not like you. If I were able to do that -- I wouldn't be human any more.

[pause]

We're not supposed to be having new bodies like you. What happens to us in   
this world happens, and that's just the way it is.

[he gets to his feet -- his companions give him anxious looks]

**Warrior**: [urgent]   
Please don't be thrown by all this -- we're just talking. I didn't mean to   
distress you.

**Beren**:   
I'm not.

**Fourth Guard**: [very worried]   
You're not upset again? Really?

**Beren**: [patting him on the shoulder]   
No. --Really.

[he goes over to Finrod's side and sits down next to him, a little away from where   
the Captain and the Steward are watching the light effects and passing the flask   
back and forth at intervals.

**Captain**: [pointing to the flames]   
Will we get in trouble, do you think, if we were to put these over all the   
fountains in the place?

**Finrod**:   
Yes.

**Steward**:   
I could have told you that.

**Finrod**: [to Beren]   
Did you want to talk about anything?

**Beren**: [noncommittal nod]   
I want to ask you something -- if it's all right.

**Finrod**:   
Ask away, --kinsman.

**Beren**: [smiling]   
All right. So . . . are there any more crazy relatives I have to watch out for?

[Finrod frowns in thought]

They told me about the High King's long-lost daughter being here, and how I   
probably don't have to worry about Feanor, but how your cousin the Princess   
isn't too keen on hearing anything bad about Celegorm or even Curufin.

**Finrod**: [mildly]   
That sounds like a fairly comprehensive briefing.

[to his officers, a touch sternly]

--Why, then, were my younger siblings omitted from the list?

**Captain**: [unfazed]   
Sorry, Sir. We've just taken to ignoring those two and their rudeness for so   
long that we forgot all about them--

[Finrod winces]

--but nobody's used to the idea of Ar-Feiniel being here, I'm afraid.

**Steward**:   
The fact that all were aware of the Princes' presence here -- and none of the   
White Lady's -- no doubt contributed to the taking-for-granted of the former.

**Captain**: [rueful]   
Being slapped hard enough to knock one into a pillar does tend to work against   
any taking-for-granted, too.

**Finrod**: [aside]   
She did regret it after, though -- particularly because you retaliated before   
you'd the chance to see who it was.

**Captain**:   
--I once asked my sister how she -- and her Lady -- could put up with Cousin   
Aredhel. The answer wasn't very flattering.

**Beren**: [a bit agog]   
And--?

**Captain**: [looking up at the ceiling]   
She said that the Lady was like a hot-tempered horse who didn't hold a grudge,   
great fun when she was in a good mood, and her bad ones didn't last long, even   
if she was easily vexed.

[to Finrod:]

Sorry about that, Sire.

**Finrod**: [dryly]   
You could say that my family was full of thieves and murderers and I wouldn't   
be able to gainsay you.

**Beren**:   
What about the High King? Is he going to want me -- well, that is -- um, going   
to be mad at me for -- everything?

**Finrod**:   
My uncle isn't likely to, no. He was troubled, yes, but he looks at fate   
much more reasonably than certain other persons of our mutual acquaintance.   
He's been rather downcast and melancholy and doesn't get about much anyway,   
though I try to draw him out of himself as much as possible. The breaking of   
the Leaguer -- and the news I had to give him about the consequences of it   
so far -- combined with the Kinslaying have rather depressed him, I'm afraid.

[pause]

--He hates being hailed as a legendary hero, as well.

**Beren**: [digging right back]   
They said he was kind of threatened by you getting all kinds of things going   
here, too.

**Finrod**: [a bit snide]   
It doesn't seem as though they've left much for me to say.

**Steward**: [sighing]   
My lord -- you're beginning to sound like me.

**Finrod**:   
. . .

[Beren & the Captain hide their expressions, and the nearest artists on the joint   
mural project look suspiciously blank.]

**Beren**:   
It's okay, Sir, we won't hold it against you.

**Finrod**:   
It's all or nothing, isn't it? Either you treat me like a demi-god, or you   
give me as much grief as these two.

**Beren**:   
Um, do you mean, as much grief as I give them, or as much as they give you?

**Finrod**:   
Yes.

**Beren**:   
I don't think I can deny that, right?

[he glances at the Elf-lords]

**Steward**: [shrugging]   
It would be an interesting experiment, to discover if a mortal can knowingly   
speak falsehood in the Halls.

**Captain**:   
But he already did, when he said he didn't have any idea what I was talking about.

**Steward**:   
No, a statement contrary to fact made with full knowledge that all present   
know that it is counter to the truth is not an untruth but merely a jest.

**Captain**:   
Well, then, this would be the same thing--

[as they are debating this issue--]

**Beren**: [his expression darkening]   
They did have a point, though.

**Finrod**:   
Who did, concerning what?

**Beren**:   
That I might as well have killed myself before getting you involved.

[Finrod's hand tightens on the harp frame]

**Finrod**:   
I should have let them get soaked.

**Beren**:   
'Cause it's not like anything I ever did made a real difference -- for the   
better, at least. Not even my War. I'm not even worth making an example of.

**Finrod**: [exasperated sigh]   
You're not still glooming about that, are you? --You don't think he was   
telling the truth, surely?

[Beren shrugs]

Beren, let me impart, if you'll allow, a brief word of advice: anyone who   
likes going by the aftername of "The Terrible" is not likely to say, "I'm   
sorry, but I'm not going to publicly execute you because I don't want anyone   
to know how much trouble you've managed to cause and if you simply disappear   
my enemies will be less likely to make a martyr of you." --Wouldn't you   
agree, eh?

**Captain**: [putting his head down on his knees in despair]   
Oh dear Lady, they're at it again! What is it this time? I don't recognize   
this one.

**Steward**: [shaking his head]   
I know about this. It's all right.

**Captain**:   
How come I don't?

**Steward**:   
Because you have such a hard time staying still and not speaking, if you're   
not out-of-doors stalking something. It was very difficult for him to talk   
about the End. And even after we knew about the rescue -- it was still nothing   
either of us wished to recollect. --Better, perhaps, that he's willing to speak   
of it now to The Beoring.

[anxiously]

--I wasn't trying to keep things from you in some sort of petty triumph.

**Captain**:   
I didn't think that, actually.

[pause]

**Steward**:   
Do you want to play chess?

**Captain**:   
--Do you want to try scaling the rockface the lads have built?

[the Steward snorts at that. Still looking at the water:]

You did cheat, didn't you?

[silence]

Why?

**Steward**: [distantly]   
I remember a foolish young Herald who refused to listen to a mere field   
officer telling him that the Enemy didn't honor the rules of battle that   
all civilized peoples in Middle-earth obeyed, saying instead, "They can't   
shoot me -- haven't you ever heard of diplomatic immunity?"

**Captain**:   
He only said that once, as I recall.

**Steward**:   
Being shot at rather tends to make it a hard position to maintain.

**Captain**:   
He did a fair job at not panicking and getting the mission out of range   
without any further casualties, as I also seem to recall, if only in bits   
and pieces.

**Steward**: [shrugging]   
I couldn't let your last words to me be: "Told you, you fool--"

**Captain**:   
I thought you apologized quite enough to last out forever and then some,   
four hundred thirty-odd years ago. That's a long time to still be worrying   
about it.

[pause]

And -- I notice you still haven't answered the question -- Why? Surely it   
wasn't still guilt over one stupid mistake and a misplaced instance of verbal   
superiority. I'd really hate to have your conscience, if that's the case.

**Steward**:   
Surely if I were going to concede any such thing, I should have done it long   
since.

**Captain**: [ignoring this]   
The how of it's easy -- obviously you simply foresaw which character I'd   
choose and named the next tengwa. But I'm not sure of the rationale, since   
it wouldn't make any difference in the end -- and if anyone had any optimistic   
hope that Orodreth might discover some courage somewhere and mount a rescue   
before the end, it wouldn't under any circumstances have been you.

**Steward**:   
Why do you insist on knowing this now?

**Captain**: [completely serious]   
Because things are about to change, as they haven't before -- I can sense it   
without benefit of Foresight, like the coming of rain from beyond the hills,   
or the scent of snow in the air -- and I think for the better, though you'll   
say that's to be expected -- and I don't know that I'll be able to ask you   
again, Outside, under broad starlight. --Why did you let me go before you?

[pause]

**Steward**: [quietly]   
It was almost as hard on you as upon him--

[nodding towards Beren]

--you could never bear being under a roof so long, even when the fortress    
was ours, and the freedom of it likewise. . . . Besides, it was not all   
unselfishness: I did not See then this meeting, and so I had a little longer   
while his company for it.

[pause]

I also knew which words he would choose.

[the Captain glances briefly towards Finrod, and then looks back at the water/fire   
in silence]

What is it you are thinking?

[pause]

**Captain**:   
Wondering what caused the Song to bless me from the beginning of Time with    
a friend willing to live in my place. I could never have earned that or   
deserved it.

**Steward**: [very dry]   
--And yet you still won't give me the grace of a chess-match.

**Captain**: [easily]   
There's that problem of staying still in one place indoors for long stretches   
of time at a go.

**Steward**:   
You're willing to sit still for long periods of time and watch, and offer   
astute criticisms of the plays, which would indicate that you don't find it   
quite so boring as all that, would it not?

**Captain**: [grinning]   
--Yes, but that's fun. It drives everyone insane when I do that, in such   
different ways, and I get to see so many unguarded reactions. And if I were   
actually playing I couldn't pay attention to everyone else and keep close   
eye on the bystanders.

**Steward**: [sighs]   
If you've not noticed, we're not in Nargothrond keeping track of the movements   
of Feanorian partisans and possible supporters any longer.

**Captain**:   
No, we're in Mandos, keeping track of the movements of Feanorian partisans,   
hadn't you realized that yet?

[this gets him a small but well-aimed splash from the spill-pool]

**Beren**: [extremely troubled]   
--But what I still don't know, is -- did any of it mean anything? Not just   
our War -- The War, and Luthien saving me, and us getting the jewel, and Huan   
killing Carcaroth -- since we just lost anyway. So what if we hurt Morgoth   
doing it? He just comes back and stomps us again, harder this time, kills   
more people, and things are worse after for resisting! What good are the   
inspiring songs, if nobody's left to sing them?

[he looks at Finrod unhappily but with hope that somehow the King will be able to   
make it all right, while Finrod meets his stare quite soberly.]

**Finrod**:   
I'm working on that problem. I still don't have enough information for a   
complete answer, I'm sorry to have to tell you.

[he startles, looking up as though he has heard something that no one else has yet   
perceived, and turns to Beren with a stricken expression.]

**Finrod**:   
Change of plan again. Just follow orders -- no questions, no interpretation --   
please.

**Beren**: [seeing how serious he is]   
Okay. --What orders?

**Finrod**: [visibly coming undone, for him]   
Stay out of sight -- stay behind Huan, don't -- don't get up, don't -- just   
-- lie low. Keep -- keep playing chess, act normal, whatever happens -- I --   
I'm not sure how I could disguise you as we are and -- just -- please -- obey.

**Beren**:   
What is it? --Who -- is it?

**Finrod**:   
My father.

**Beren**:   
? ! ?

[Finrod reaches out and grips his shoulder in attempted reassurance]

**Finrod**:   
Don't panic. Everything will be all right.

**Beren**:   
No it won't.

**Finrod**: [sadly agreeing]   
Probably not. --But leave it all to me. Please.

[Beren nods, and getting up goes quickly over to the further side of the   
pool where the games are ongoing, hastily explaining to a resulting general   
consternation and gestures of alarm equal to his news of Amarie, while the   
two chief counsellors answer their unofficial liege lord's summons for a hasty   
briefing and consultation.]

[By the time a Messenger of the Halls' resident staff enters, looking far more   
vague and brilliant than anyone we have yet seen (rather like a personification   
of the Northern Lights), and ushering in Finarfin, King of the Noldor in Aman   
(he might be played by Peter Davison, in All Creatures Great And Small, Dr. Who   
days) -- everyone has settled down into very preoccupied harmless pursuits again,   
and Beren is completely screened behind giant Hound and friends. Finrod does not   
leave his nook beside the falls, doing an excellent imitation of someone completely   
oblivious, and the Captain has taken point, as shall be seen in a moment, at the   
closest edge of the spill-pool towards the door, leaning on his elbow and ostensibly   
taking it quite easy.]

**Messenger**:   
If it please you wait a moment, while I admit your Majesty's companion --   
I'm afraid we're very short of people available right now. --Not entirely   
coincidentally, I've heard.

**Finarfin**:   
I shall wait, then, gentle spirit.

[the Messenger vanishes. Finarfin looks around with a controlled awe and restrained   
apprehension -- and as perception adjusts he sees the ghostly grouping, and his face   
changes from wonder to dismay to equally-controlled anger -- the last especially as   
Finrod continues to disregard him. After a brief hesitation he walks slowly over   
towards the waterfall, and stops to look down at the Captain with a particularly   
disgusted expression. The Captain gets up and bows with a pleasant smile.]

**Finarfin**:   
--Thou.

**Captain**: [tone matching his smile]   
Good day, my lord -- meaning day in the most general sense, for we haven't any   
way of telling the time here.

[Finarfin glares at him]

**Finarfin**: [bluntly]   
Thy former post I have given to another -- nor shalt thou have it again, when   
thou dost depart these halls.

**Captain**: [unfazed]   
Of course not -- I wouldn't expect you to take it from my replacement and give   
it to a rebel. Who's chief huntsman now?

[long pause]

**Finarfin**:   
I did award it unto thy sister.

**Captain**: [genuine cheerfulness]   
Well, that's good -- keeping it in the family, what? At least the job's in   
competent hands.

[pause]

**Finarfin**:   
I'll not have thee hanging about the place like wasp to fallen fruit, seeking   
for undeservéd bounty.

**Captain**:   
I beg your pardon, my lord?

**Finarfin**:   
Nay, is't not the very trouble, that thou dost not? --I mean thou shalt have   
no welcome within my doors, nor admittance within my gates, nor any admit thee   
within the walls of mine own house. Thou hast chosen thine own way in the world:   
do thou make it, then.

[this sinks in]

**Captain**:   
And what of my kin?

**Finarfin**:   
Do they choose to see thee, let arrangements be made -- but not upon the   
lands of my holding, nor upon the hours of their employ; an they'll the   
hours of their idleness squander on thy ingratitude, let them do so elsewise   
and in other venue.

[silence]

What wouldst thou say, sir?

[the Captain is clearly hurt and troubled by this proclamation]

**Captain**:   
That you are within your power, and have every lawful right to bar whomsoever   
you wish from your property.

**Finarfin**: [baiting him]   
Thou dost not say I am unjust, then, else cruel?

**Captain**: [shortly]   
Freedom answers all complaints, my lord.

[before this can escalate further the Steward comes over in a preemptory way and   
addresses his colleague equally abruptly]

**Steward**:   
Go attend upon our sovereign lord: he shall have question and request for   
you. --At once.

[the Captain snaps to attention and bows before leaving with the same alacrity;   
the Steward gives Finarfin a cool half-bow, as between near-equals, and turns to   
go without speaking -- but Finarfin calls him back.]

**Finarfin**:   
Enedrion.

**Steward**: [wary]   
Sir.

[watchful pause]

**Finarfin**:   
I encountered thy father at court not long since.

**Steward**: [politely formal]   
Indeed?

[pause -- when it is apparent Finarfin is not going to be more forthcoming:]

--And how fares Lord Enedir?

**Finarfin**:   
Uncertain as to whom he should most direct his wrath -- thyself, myself, or   
mine eldest son.

[pause]

This is nothing new, we often speak of our children who have lost them.

[longer pause]

**Steward**:   
Indeed.

[uncomfortable silence]

**Finarfin**:   
Is there any message, that thou'dst have me bear unto thy parents?

**Steward**: [diffident]   
I should not wish to put any burden upon my lord's father.

**Finarfin**: [iron]   
Young sir, were I not willing, I should not have asked. --What message wouldst   
thou give them?

**Steward**: [resigned]   
Then, if you will, -- convey to my family my condolences upon their loss.

**Finarfin**: [startled]   
Art mad, or dost thou jest?

**Steward**:   
Neither, sir, or so I do believe.

**Finarfin**:   
Condolences? What reply, thinkst thou, thy father'll make to that?

**Steward**: [shrugs]   
I will not speak untruth. My heraldic office forbids it, even if my conscience   
were not sufficiently strong, to say there's aught that I regret, or would do   
other, when it is not so -- and yet to say as much were a far crueller thing,   
I think, than nothing at all. Moreover -- would not any conciliatory phrase be   
manifestly not of my making? At least they'll have no doubt this comes of me.

[Finarfin sighs]

**Finarfin**:   
--Indeed. --Who else should answer with such insolence in such courteous form?

**Steward**: [tired]   
It is not insolence -- though no doubt they'll see it so as well.

**Finarfin**:   
And I must bear the brunt of it.

**Steward**:   
If you will recollect, my lord, that follows but upon your insistence. I wished   
no such trouble -- for you -- or them.

**Finarfin**:   
And sparest not to mind me of't.

**Steward**:   
Not oft -- I shall say it but this once, in fairness.

**Finarfin**:   
To whom? Thyself or myself?

**Steward**:   
Why, to whom does justice belong, my lord?

**Finarfin**: [dry chuckle]   
--Thy wits, perhaps, --but not thy wit. As edged as ever, I do perceive.

**Steward**: [nodding]   
The extremes of ice and fire set a keen temper.

**Finarfin**: [as one stating a fact]   
Thou hast not forgiven Araman.

**Steward**: [deliberate emphasis]   
Said I so, my lord?

[brief silence]

**Finarfin**:   
Dost deny thou dost accept me not as king?

**Steward**:   
Are we in Tirion?

[looks around exaggeratedly]

We are not. Till then -- I have a lord already.

**Finarfin**:   
Thou kennst he doth lay claim to no such title now?

**Steward**: [nodding]   
We allow him to maintain that fiction, the more so since all know full well   
it is just that.

**Finarfin**: [startled again]   
Thou dost allow--?!

[Finrod comes up to them, and with a polite but brief nod to his father sets a   
hand on the Steward's shoulder.]

**Finrod**:   
--Edrahil. Would you be so good as to see if my gentle kinsfolk are done   
with their chess-game yet? Do not let my uncle draw you into another round.

**Steward**:   
Of course, your Majesty.

[bows to Finarfin]

I rest my case, my lord.

[he goes away into the shadows. Finarfin gives his son the raised eyebrow]

**Finrod**: [coolly]   
A rescue seemed in order. Again.

**Finarfin**:   
And of whom, pray?

**Finrod**:   
Whichever most needed it. --One ought not begin an endeavor which one has   
not the will to finish.

**Finarfin**:   
Aye . . . As, for example, --to wed.

[touché]

**Finrod**: [folding his arms]   
So. --Why have you come here? I assure you I have not nor shall not change   
my mind, and this cannot do either of us any good.

**Finarfin**:   
And art thou the heavens' center, that all must turn about thee? It is not   
on thy behalf that I am come.

**Finrod**: [bowing his head slightly]   
My mistake.

**Finarfin**: [shaking his head]   
Such presumption sovereignty hath bred in thee, since thou didst wrest from   
me full half our House and alliegiance thereof. And yet . . . it seemeth that   
hence all kings must come at last.

**Finrod**: [shrugging]   
Here I am but one among many bound here by our folly. My time as lord beneath   
the Sun is ended with my days in Middle-earth, and never shall I reign again,   
for good or evil. --You need not fear that I shall usurp your authority again.

[Finarfin looks away, tight-lipped, as though trying to bite back some really   
caustic retort. Shrewdly:]

--If you've hope of getting some affirmation from Grandfather, I'm afraid   
you've come in vain. He will neither see nor speak with any of us. Not even   
your brothers.

[Finarfin stares at him -- this has hit home in turn. Before he can recover,   
another pair of newcomers enters: the Assistant of the divine Smith we met   
previously, and a woman whose dark, plain and practical clothes contrast   
strikingly with her flaming hair. (Zoe Caldwell, Medea, might represent her.)   
Her posture expresses extreme unease and apprehension, and she looks around   
without any pretense of being unimpressed, pulling her cloak around her as if   
chilled. Aule's Assistant bows to her and vanishes, which does not seem to   
surprise her in the least.]

**Nerdanel**: [to Finarfin]   
--Brother.

[she crosses quickly and embraces him, with a quick kiss on either cheek, and   
they clasp hands tightly, letting go with reluctance like worried relatives in   
a hospital ward.]

Thy mother is much troubled over all this ado, I confess.

**Finarfin**: [smiling despite the stress]   
Didst assure her, then, by thy coming, to give me wisest counsels?

**Nerdanel**: [managing a brief smile]   
I did.

[she gives a very brief, anxious glance towards Finrod -- it's clear from her   
manner that she would rather pretend that he is not there, if he'd be civilized   
enough to allow it]

She tasked me to restrain thy more impetuous urges, and thee to give me heart.

[Finarfin pats her arm in gesture of reassurance]

**Finrod**: [bowing very politely]   
Aunt 'Danel.

**Nerdanel**. [sighing]   
Nephew.

[pause]

--'Twould be indiscreet, so I am given to know, to enquire of thee the news   
I'd have most willingly.

**Finrod**: [without resentment]   
When last I saw them, or had news of them, their stars were in the ascendant,   
or at the least maintaining above the tide of War.

**Nerdanel**: [sharply]   
All of them, sayest thou?

**Finrod**:   
All that I have seen.

[gently]

I have not yet seen any of them here. --Though that does not mean as much as   
it might: I haven't seen their father, either, though some few others have of   
your former household.

**Nerdanel**:   
Thou seest too much. --E'en as thou dost deny it.

**Finrod**:   
I am truly sorry to have no better comfort to offer.

**Nerdanel**:   
Thou dost speak as comfort might be given, that's no more to be had, saving the   
past be undone. --Nor shall that be. Shatter the alabaster, then mend it as thou   
canst -- still it doth remain cracked and withal flawed for ever and aye.

[pause]

**Finrod**:   
Then one might do better to carve another, and make the work over anew.

**Nerdanel**:   
And that new-fashioned one is not the first, nor shalt ever be the same.

[pause]

**Finrod**: [meaningfully]   
It might be better.

**Nerdanel**: [dismissive]   
Thou and thy mad follies. Is't not enough to leave Valinor atilt with thy   
departing, that must unbalance more upon thy coming home? Must shake Taniquetil   
with this heresy of thine, and set all Valmar's tongues to ringing e'en as their   
bells, as the clamor on the hill of Tun' doth blow stormwise through the White   
Tree's leaves, for the tale of thy mortal Doom?

[Finrod looks both intensely embarrassed and unshakably stubborn]

**Finrod**:   
Of course I could be wrong.

[this sounds like formal politeness]

**Nerdanel**: [coolly]   
Well, thou'lt learn the truth of't for thyself in little while, shalt thou   
not? When thou hast thy flesh again, must tell us all, of whether this second   
sculpting be equal to the first.

[nonplused, he can think of nothing to say to that -- while he is still silenced   
Finarfin rallies]

**Finarfin**:   
When shalt rejoin us, son? Thy mother cannot fathom wherefore thou dost   
abide here, when thy rooms stand empty in Tirion for thy reclaiming.

**Finrod**: [shrugging]   
That's up to Amarie, Father. There's no way I can avoid running into her --   
or friends of hers -- Outside and out-of-doors, and I'm not going to come   
home and skulk around the house. You've already got enough problems as it   
is, without the neighbors deluging you with sympathy for another insane   
relative.

**Finarfin**:   
Mad or otherwise, we would yet have thee to home again.

**Finrod**:   
I'm sorry.

[somewhat hesitant]

Would you please tell Mother for me--

**Finarfin**: [cutting him off]   
Thy mother shalt yet hear no apology of thine, save thou dost give it her   
thyself, and in the flesh.

[pause]

**Finrod**: [conversationally]   
You know, I'm not the only one in the family who can "outstubborn stubborn."

**Finarfin**:   
Indeed, far other -- I find it most amusing, that Earwen doth aver it cometh   
of my parentage, this obduracy and headstrong will of our offspring.

**Finrod**: [same offhand, and patently-false, tone]   
Oh, I've met Mother's relatives overseas. We haven't an inch of vantage on them.

**Finarfin**:   
So I am adviséd. Thou didst ask wherefore I am come hither. 'Tis thus: Lord   
Namo has requested that I might lend my authority as chief of our folk to   
convince the daughter of her uncle Elwe -- with whom I believe thou art in   
some small wise acquainted -- to see reason and to release withal her Second-   
born spouse -- whose acquaintance I believe thou also hast -- from his mortal   
toils within this world, speaking haply more in tune with her own mind and   
nature that are akin to our own, than the great Powers, that are stranger to   
her -- and that have eke known both the joys of Aman, and--

[nodding sympathetically to Nerdanel]

--the sorrows of wedlock and husband's love that cools upon longsome time.

[Aule's Assistant manifests again and joins them, ignoring Finrod completely]

**Aule's Assistant**: [very deferential to the King of the Noldor and Mahtan's daughter]   
--Gentles, if you'd please to come . . .

**Finrod**: [raising an eyebrow]   
So they expect that you and Aunt 'Danel will be able to talk Luthien into   
staying here alone in Aman.

[snorts]

**Finarfin**: [dry]   
Indeed. --I cannot begin to fathom why.

[with this parting shot he follows the waiting messenger and his sister-in-law,   
as Finrod winces again.]

* * *

**SCENE III.vii**

  
  


[Elsewhere: the Conference chamber]

[Luthien is leaning against one of the columns, her arms folded, frowning, while   
the Powers look gloomily at her or at the light-dish; the Ambassador, apparently   
having given up, is wandering slowly along the circumference looking at the   
scenes of Doriath while the argument goes on.]

**Aule**: [gesturing for emphasis]   
You keep saying that we are not listening to you, but you don't seem to be   
aware that you yourself are not aware of what we are telling you. Clearly   
you've already made up your mind to ignore everything that my colleagues,   
and I, have to say.

**Luthien**:   
That's because it's irrelevant. Some situations are not negotiable.

[the Ambassador gives her a startled look -- deja-vu]

Everything about Beren being unworthy of me is simply wrong. So that's   
irrelevant.

**Namo**: [patiently]   
No one has said that, Luthien. You're projecting your arguments with your   
parents on this situation.

**Luthien**: [pointing to her father's counsellor]   
He did.

**Namo**: [dispassionate]   
Correction. None of us has said that. --Or that you don't really love him,   
or that he doesn't really love you. Or that he hasn't done heroic service   
in the cause of Arda, or that he isn't real, or any of the other things you   
keep on insisting we have. What we are saying is simply the truth: you can't   
keep him here indefinitely discorporate. It isn't fair to him to deny him   
the Gift of Men.

**Orome**: [speaking up finally, still scowling darkly]   
We want to help you both.

**Luthien**: [fretfully]   
I just want to go home. --With Beren.

**Namo**:   
And then what? Do we do this all over again in fifty or sixty years? He isn't   
made for this.

[Luthien bursts into tears, turning to hide her face against the pillar; Vaire   
gives her husband a reproachful look]

**Vaire**: [getting up]   
That wasn't a very sensitive thing to say, darling.

**Namo**:   
The truth usually isn't.

**Vaire**:   
I know, but still--

[she goes over to where Irmo is already trying to comfort her]

**Irmo**:   
Child, child, please don't cry --

**Luthien**: [through her teeth]   
I want to go home.

**Vaire**: [hugging her]   
But this is your home. You were meant to come here, and be safe, that's why   
Tav went to find your people in the first place. If you'd been born here   
you'd never have had all these troubles.

**Orome**: [ironic aside]   
--Other troubles, but not these troubles.

**Luthien**: [pulling away, sniffling]   
But if my father had come back with everyone else, then he wouldn't have met   
my mother, because she was already in Middle-earth then, and so I wouldn't   
have been born. Here or anywhere else. --Or I'd have been someone else. So   
there wouldn't be a Luthien for you to talk to.

**Ambassador**: [resigned]   
It's just like arguing with the King her father. Neither one of them knows how   
to stop.

**Aule**: [snorting]   
--If this is what Melian puts up with on a daily basis, I'm surprised she   
was born at all.

**Irmo**:   
Este and I would be so happy to have you come live with us. And for your own   
sake, not just because we loved your mother so much: the Gardens would be made   
inexpressibly more delightful for your presence--

**Luthien**: [raising her voice]   
I am not a collectible!!! --Do I look like a garden statue, I ask?!?

[stunned silence -- into which Aule's Assistant and escorted company arrive, all   
three with postures indicative of wary reluctance]

**Luthien**: [not quite so loudly]   
I hope you're not more "old friends of my mother's."

**Nerdanel**: [wry]   
That would be most difficult, forasmuch as I never met thy mother. I am   
Nerdanel, of Lord Aule's Following, and presently attached to Queen Indis   
her household -- though most known for another familial connection, I confess.

**Luthien**: [narrowing her eyes]   
You're Feanor's wife, right?

[pause]

I have to say, you didn't do a very good job raising your children.

[collective cringe -- Nerdanel sighs, and Finarfin looks over at the Lord of   
the Halls.]

**Namo**: [before he can say anything]   
Yes, it's been like this all along.

**Aule**: [cynical smile]   
Have a chair, welcome to the party.

[he gestures toward the vacant seats]

It's the most excitement there's been since we launched the Sun -- you wouldn't   
want to miss any of it, now?

**Finarfin**: [warily]   
As I do recall, my Lord -- much of that ado was was born from lack of certainty   
as to the durance of the vessel and risks therewith.

**Aule**:   
This isn't too different, as you'll find. Waiting for something to blow up,   
crash, burn or otherwise wreak havoc--

[to Orome]

I'm almost willing to concede that Tulkas has the right idea -- I could use   
a drink right now myself.

* * *

**SCENE III.viii**

  
  
  


[the Hall]

[Finrod goes back to his seat, picks up the harp, looks at it, smiles ironically   
and sets it down again, shaking his head. Despite his apparent nonchalance he's   
quite aware that everyone is watching to see what he will do, all along; what he   
does is beckon the Captain over to him, not urgently, but with a resolute air.]

**Captain**:   
Sir?

**Finrod**:   
I've been waiting for things to happen, and now they are, and happening too   
fast and variously for me to manage singly. I can't wait for my uncle to make   
up his mind about acting, and I need good intelligence to make intelligent   
decisions.

**Captain**: [seriously]   
Of course. We don't want any more of the sort of systemic failures and oversights   
that helped land us here happening again.

[Finrod gives him a Look]

--Why, Sire, surely if you can blame yourself for circumstances far past your   
control, you'll not begrudge me the same?

**Finrod**: [deep sigh]   
Consider the point taken. What we need is inside access to the debates, from   
someone who's well-disposed to Beren, or at the least not hostile to us, and   
keen-witted enough to be able to sort out the meat from the shells, so to speak.   
Can you crack me this nut, then?

**Captain**:   
Ah, this must be Edrahil's request.

[Finrod gives him another Look]

He said you'd have both a question and a request for me when he saved me   
from your dad's incipient harangue, and you already asked me what in the   
name of the Void was going on, then.

[Finrod sighs]

There's one individual that springs to mind immediately. I mean, it would   
be a little inappropriate to appeal to my Lady -- yet. --But. And then   
again -- but. It's that competitiveness that's going to be trouble.

[he raises an eyebrow -- Finrod nods.]

**Finrod**: [meaningfully]   
Yes. That's what I was thinking. The trouble is, I can't afford the traditional   
methods -- they take too long, for one -- and besides, those usually don't give   
the best results. I need full, free and proactive cooperation, not devious   
answers begrudgingly given, even if it's just for the joy of it and not real   
malice. I don't want to be worrying about whether I've phrased one wrong and   
wasted it, so that I hardly dare use the other two until it's too late.

**Captain**:   
So. No riddles, no boardgames.

[he frowns thoughtfully]

Got it. I think I can manage this without actually having to fight His Majesty.   
And if not -- at least he doesn't have it in for me.

**Finrod**: [wincing]   
Do I want to hear about this plan of yours?

**Captain**:   
Probably not, Sir.

**Finrod**:   
--Ought I regardless?

[pause]

**Captain**:   
I don't think you need to.

**Finrod**:   
Good. Take as many people as you require.

**Captain**:   
Oh, I think my backup's already there.

**Finrod**:   
Of course. --Try to pry him loose from that damnéd game of my uncle's when   
you're finished.

**Captain**:   
I don't know if I can promise that, Sire. Getting between chess sots and   
their board is--

**Finrod**:   
--See if you can inveigle my cousin into taking his place. Tell her you'll   
thrash her husband for her or something. --You did not hear me say that,   
by the by.

**Captain**:   
Hear what, my lord?

**Finrod**: [sighing]   
I should never have introduced either version of it to Eithel Sirion.

**Captain**:   
If not you, someone else should have soon enough.

[departing, over his shoulder:]

You know she'd rather do it herself, though. --Actually, that gives me a   
better idea.

**Finrod**:   
I await your results with equal parts eagerness and trepidation. Good luck.

[as the Captain leaves Finrod whistles loudly and Huan comes to him, followed by a curious Beren.]

**Finrod**:   
Stay and look after Beren until I return. If there's any trouble of any sort,   
please come and fetch me immediately.

**Beren**:   
Sir, should you really be going off by yourself? I heard about all that,   
and I think they're right to be worried. How your wearing this--

[reaches up and flicks at Finrod's hair and collar]

-- is as in-your-face as you can get to the Kinslayers without actually   
calling them that, and how they're fed up with you six ways from Couplesday   
already.

**Finrod**:   
Didn't they tell you about the latest attempt, then?

**Beren**:   
I know, but you can't do that with the walls -- or the floor -- any more   
because you promised, right? And even if they don't know that yet it'll be   
obvious when you don't.

[pause]

**Finrod**:   
They put you up to this, didn't they?

**Beren**:   
No, I just kept adding things up. Two and two and two is six, after   
all, Sir.

**Finrod**: [wistful]   
Surely you wouldn't be addressing me so formally still, if I were one of   
your mortal kinsmen.

**Beren**:   
You're changing the subject, Sir, and yes I would, if you were one of my   
senior cousins on Ma's side visiting which is how I can almost make it work   
by pretending, and I did call them "Sir" and "Ma'am," and if one of them   
was going to do something dumb like go hiking in an area they didn't know   
very well by themselves without a guide I did tell them that even if I was   
just a kid.

[pause]

I did it politely, like I did at first, though, I didn't tell them it was   
dumb -- but if that didn't work I would go ask Ma or Uncle Brego for help   
if they didn't listen on account of me being a kid.

[Finrod just looks at him]

Only there's no one I can go to at this point since you don't listen to   
them and I don't know your uncle and somehow I don't think you'd listen   
to him anyway. Or you'd listen but then you'd do it anyway. If I was really   
unscrupulous I would say something like how if you get beat up by a squad   
of bandits you won't be helping me and it will make it harder for you to   
do that, but that would be unfair.

[Finrod sighs, looks away, and then tries very hard to persuade Beren he's   
overreacting]

**Finrod**:   
Beren, please try to understand. Throughout the entirety of the Return I was   
obliged to be responsible and level-headed and mediate between all my hot-   
tempered, justly-or-unjustly-outraged, easily-offended kin and compatriots,   
and every other free People in Beleriand as well. That gets tiresome after   
almost half-a-millenium, you know. And I don't have to do it any more. I'm   
not the King of Nargothrond now.

**Beren**: [nods]   
I can see why you'd want to take risks and have some fun after being serious   
and in charge all that while, but if you won't consider us -- how we feel   
worrying about you and not being able to do anything to protect you -- then   
I will have to guilt you about it.

**Finrod**: [jauntily]   
I don't need to move the walls, though -- the Powers don't bother preventing   
us from administering lessons in civility and prudence to each other, and I   
assure you I am quite as much the equal of any here with sword or lance as   
I am with any form of power.

[he gestures, for an instant brandishing a dangerous looking blade, before letting   
it vanish]

**Beren**: [unmoved]   
And there's still just one of you. At least take Huan.

**Huan**:   
[agreeable tail-wagging]

[Finrod looks around, then leans closer and says very quietly]

**Finrod**:   
Beren, I don't need to move the walls to deal with them. I could make them   
think they were trapped behind walls, if I chose. I could make them believe   
far worse. If they truly threaten me, they will wish they had turned back at   
Araman, if not for remorse then for the sake of fear, since the end result   
is that they're here in my company.

[pause]

**Beren**:   
You'll get in trouble.

**Finrod**:   
Very likely. It won't matter because they'd never dare risk my anger again.

[pause]

Do you believe me?

**Beren**:   
They said that people can't lie here -- that what you think is what you say here.

**Finrod**:   
I can't lie to you anyway. --Only deceive you with silence.

**Beren**:   
Sir -- everyone has their secrets. And yeah, that was not a good one to keep   
from me, and I think you know that now, so I don't see that you need to bring   
it up every other minute any more.

**Finrod**: [mild]   
Sharply put.

**Beren**: [not giving ground]   
Yep.

**Finrod**: [rueful]   
--"Sharp as salt," isn't that how the saying goes? Such a diet I get of it   
from my counsellors -- not even you will give me honeyed words. I am blessed   
far beyond my deserts to be so served!

[earnestly]

I will be careful, and avoid trouble. I promise.

[he starts to leave again -- Beren calls after him:]

**Beren**:   
What'll you do to them, if they're not?

**Finrod**: [grimly]   
You don't want to know.

[pause]

**Beren**:   
--You wouldn't.

**Finrod**: [edged smile]   
You know me better than that.

[he runs a hand through his braids]

I do wear this guise as a reminder that I haven't forgotten Alqualonde. I will   
forgive them -- when they repent. Until then -- let them be wary, or else find   
themselves sorry regardless.

[pause]

Are you regretting your claiming of kinship as rashness yet?

**Beren**:   
I know about avenging family -- and guilt.

[he closes the distance between them]

**Finrod**: [blurting it out]   
Please don't kneel to me again--

**Beren**:   
Wasn't going to.

[he grabs Finrod's arm and pulls him to lean down]

Be careful, Ingold.

[with that he slaps him firmly on the shoulder and strolls back to Huan, while   
Finrod struggles to stop grinning as he leaves]

* * *

**SCENE III.ix**

  
  
  
  
  


[Elsewhere: the conference chamber.]

[Luthien is standing in the middle of the circle, halfway turned in the middle of   
a bout of pacing around the hearth-bowl, holding out her arms to her interlocutors   
in an indignant gesture.]

**Luthien**:   
. . . So now do you think, do you really think, I'm going to walk away from him   
after that? The Silmaril is meaningless. It's just complicating things in your   
minds. Forget about the Silmaril.

[long silence. No one seems to know where to look. Finarfin is looking as close to   
a shade as is possible for a living Elf.]

**Vaire**:   
Your Majesty, are you ill?

[the King of the Noldor cannot answer at first]

**Finarfin**:   
My Lady -- I am.

[he closes his eyes, his right hand flat on the table, the left clenched.]

**Vaire**:   
Would you like us to adjourn for a while, Sire?

[pause. All are looking at Finarfin, or trying politely not to -- Luthien appears   
a bit guilty]

**Finarfin**:   
This -- this matter is not news to thee, my Lady.

**Vaire**: [compassionately]   
No, Your Majesty.

**Finarfin**: [shaking his head at himself]   
But of course . . . of a certain, not.

[looks down]

I think I shall betake myself to walk but a whiles, gentles, if ye shall excuse   
mine absence. I'll return anon.

**Vaire**:   
Don't trouble yourself about us, dear -- we'll manage quite adequately in your   
absence.

[Finarfin rises, with a distracted acknowledgment of her words, and turns towards   
the arched door]

**Irmo**:   
Shall I come with you? If Este were here . . . but she isn't, so . . .

**Finarfin**: [a touch of sternness]   
I will walk alone, I thank you.

**Luthien**: [worried]   
--Will you be all right?

**Finarfin**: [distantly]   
I misdoubt.

[he walks out into the shadows, very straight-backed, head held high, as though   
on his way to the block]   


* * *

**SCENE III.x**

  
  
  
  
  
  


[Elsewhere: a wide tapestried hallway with pillars down the length of it, lit by   
silver-white light from discreet sconces.]

[Two ghostly figures are duelling down it, with speed and agility impossible for   
mere mortals, neither giving any quarter, -- but neither managing to get any hits   
in, either. When one of the fighters -- female -- seems close to gaining the upper   
hand, her opponent manages to block her, darts behind a pillar, and from the other   
side flings a short spear. The swordswoman (who ought to be played by Carrie Ann   
Moss of Matrix fame) deflects it with her blade, catches it in her left hand and   
throws it back at him -- he raises his hand and it vanishes. She puts a hand on   
her hip and jeers at him:]

Hah! I told you you couldn't keep yourself from cheating. If you'd come to   
Aman you'd have learned some honor there, instead of how to shoot from the   
safety of the trees, Dark-elf.

[He moves out -- Gabriel Byrne might be cast in this part -- and they circle each   
other, watching for an opening]

**Eol**:   
Oh yes, that famous Noldor honor. Which somehow doesn't stop you from killing   
unarmed kinsfolk.

**Aredhel**:   
As if you have any ground to stand on!

**Eol**: [bitterly]   
Marrying you was the biggest mistake I ever made. I should never have let you   
lure me from my peace and quiet!

**Aredhel**:   
You should have stayed single? --I'd still be alive if it weren't for you,   
you wretch!

**Eol**:   
So would I, if not for you, you seductress!

**Aredhel**:   
Assassin!

**Eol**:   
Traitor!

**Aredhel**:   
Traitor yourself!

[They clash again in a bout lasting several exchanges and fall back, frustrated,   
without lodging any hits]

**Eol**:   
I should have known you'd be a thankless ingrate and a rebel -- just look at   
the rest of your family!

**Aredhel**:   
Stuck without using any secret weapons, hm? Sure you don't want to cheat now?   
Or are you going to try to down me with poisoned words this time?

[Enraged, he lunges forward again and they go up and down the pillar footings like   
a small whirlwind until this gets boring again. Before either of them comes up with   
a new insult, the Captain saunters in and stands there watching with a contemptuous   
expression]

**Captain**:   
Do you only fight women and children, old chap?

**Eol**:   
Be off, Kinslayer!

**Captain**: [shaking his head pityingly]   
Don't insult Her Highness -- it was an honest, if tragic, misunderstanding.   
--Unless you're talking to yourself . . . again.

[Both of them shoot him dirty looks; Aredhel's glare turns to a smirk]

Of course, if you're fighting the White Lady -- she really ought to be   
handicapped to make it fair, unless you plan to manifest a few illegal   
weapons along the way.

[Eol snarls; Aredhel snickers]

What, you've already cheated? And you've not even been nicked once in this   
match yet? Seems like you're backsliding, Master Smith -- you're supposed to   
be learning calm, and patience, and tranquility and such.

**Aredhel**: [aside]   
--What are you up to, I wonder?

**Eol**:   
Don't you dare to lecture me, you insolent, immature, Noldor delinquent!

**Captain**: [as if neither of them has spoken]   
And you with that amazing galvorn stuff, too -- I notice that your wife hasn't   
even bothered with a reinforced jerkin, so obviously in spite of your cheating   
she still outclasses you. I suppose you're used to sparring against employees   
scared you'd sack them if they actually showed you up? Or perhaps you always   
just ambushed your adversaries in the midst of peaceful counsels. Rather like   
my lord's cousin and the emissaries of Morgoth, both planning to get the jump   
on each other, eh?

[Eol lunges at him without warning -- before he gets there the Captain has drawn   
his sword and blocked him, hard]

**Aredhel**: [wickedly amused]   
Bad mistake.

[Surprise assault foiled, Eol breaks off and starts stalking -- they circle, facing   
each other. Eol's stalk is more dramatic, but because the Captain is only pivoting,   
Eol's using a lot more energy and has more distance to cover when he makes his move]

**Captain**: [musing tone]   
You do realize that I used to do this sort of thing for a living? Not just as   
a hobby. --Never used any of my own folk for target practice, though--

[That does it -- Eol charges him with a furious yell and they set to in earnest.   
The difference between this and the earlier fight is not so much strength or even   
skill, but style -- earlier the couple were duelling, but the Captain fights   
combat-fashion: no dramatics, just the combination of rapid reflexes and brute   
force that one sees in predators fighting for survival, not for display. It includes   
tactics like stomping ankles and following a thrust with a driven shoulder or using   
the hilt as a bludgeon, for offense, and drop-slide-and-roll for defense, though   
there is a sort of horrible elegance to it nonetheless.]

**Aredhel**:   
Yes!

[the Captain has feinted and used the mistaken block on Eol's part to get in a   
gladius-style short thrust up under two overlapping plates of his armor. As the   
Dark-elf falls he succeeds in landing a hard counter-stroke on the Captain's   
shoulder, but the latter has plainly counted on this and does not appear surprised.]

**Captain**: [holding his collarbone]   
--And once again, the combination of practice and training demonstrates its   
manifest superiority to beserk rage and dilettantism.

**Eol**: [from the floor]   
Faugh. Make much of your blow and belittle mine. Typical invader arrogance.

**Captain**:   
Yes, but you'd be dead -- if you weren't already dead -- and I wouldn't be --   
if I weren't, again, already dead.

**Aredhel**:   
Are you all right, my lord?

**Captain**: [matter-of-factly]   
Not yet.

[to Eol, lecturing mode:]

You should have taken that on your vambrace and ridden it out: trying not to   
get hurt at all will inevitably get you killed. If you're down to your last   
adversary, a clavicle's an acceptable exchange.

[to Aredhel]

--But not, however, if you still have more to go.

**Aredhel**: [cheerful exasperation]   
I know that. --And don't start on the "that's why you always wear armour, even   
if you're not planning on fighting and it's uncomfortable and others think it's   
paranoid, because being good isn't good enough" lecture. --So what are you up   
to? Simple boredom, or did someone finally get you to take that bet?

**Captain**: [gingerly testing his arm]   
Which bet is that?

**Aredhel**:   
The one that you could take my -- consort -- without turning a hair. So to speak.

**Captain**:   
--Damn! If I'd known about that, I could have made a nice haul.

**Eol**: [sitting up slowly, hunched over]   
You're all mad, vying for non-existent trifles!

**Captain**:   
Right, like destroying what you -- ahem -- love, makes any sense at all.

**Aredhel**: [suspicious]   
If it wasn't that, then what was--

[she breaks off and rolls her eyes as Nienna's Apprentice makes his appearance   
in the hallway and gives them all meaningful Looks]

**Apprentice**: [patronizingly-superior tone]   
Lady Vaire sent me to discover what the disturbance was about and to make it   
stop. I ought to have guessed you'd be part of this.

**Captain**:   
Upon my honor, sir, I--

**Apprentice**:   
--did not draw until drawn upon, I'm quite sure.

[sighs]

Don't you people have anything better to do than engage in senseless violence?

**Captain**: [leadingly]   
Now then, now then -- I've been given to understand that you consider yourself   
no mean hand at swordplay, either.

**Apprentice**: [challenging]   
And why do you say that?

**Captain**:   
I . . . have my sources, and mean to keep them thus. --So it isn't true? You   
don't, in fact know more than hilt from point?

**Apprentice**: [nettled]   
I didn't say that.

**Captain**:   
I suppose it must be a guilty secret rather, not quite as bad as having done   
in your relatives, but with something of the same taint about it.

**Apprentice**:   
What are you talking about?

**Captain**:   
Though perhaps things have changed while we've been gone, though I confess it   
doesn't sound that way from the rumours I've heard.

**Apprentice**:   
Do you think it's funny to be annoying, or can you not help it? --Ah--

[checks]

Threnody, but that's what he's always asking me.

[sighs]

**Captain**:   
As a matter of fact, I can help it--

**Aredhel**:   
--he just thinks it's amusing to be cryptic and insolent. My cousin collects   
the strangest people.

**Captain**:   
You don't know the half of us. --I meant, young sir, that your kin must look   
quite askance on such a violent hobby, unless the Vanyar have changed far more   
in the years since the Rebellion than even we.

[long pause]

**Apprentice**:   
Oh. I see.

**Captain**:   
So do you meet in secret to make weapons and train like we did? Or are they   
simply resigned to their unruly offspring and hope that by ignoring it you'll   
get bored of it and grow up?

**Apprentice**:   
Erm . . .

**Captain**:   
I suppose you were just trying to show off, then, when you made all those   
careless remarks to the Princes' lads about being a fair hand at it. --That's   
how I know, by-the-by. That was a deliberate careless remark, intended to edify,   
not an actual accidental careless remark let slip. --You see how easy it is to   
mean to keep secrets and give them away all the same? At least to anyone who is   
paying close attention to the things you're saying -- or not saying.

**Aredhel**: [shaking her head]   
This is why people want to see mincemeat made of you, you know.

**Captain**:   
Because I'm right all the time?

**Eol**: [who has gotten up at last, standing rather painfully and still holding his chest]   
Because you're an arrogant whelp of an interloper, lording it over your betters   
and elders.

**Captain**:   
What, are you still hanging about where you're not wanted? Why don't you go   
and vent your ill-temper on the following of Feanor, who actually deserve it?   
Oh -- that's right, there are a lot of them and they'd probably go out of their   
way to hurt you, like kicking you in the face once you were down.

[Eol spits towards him -- the Captain ignores him]

--Which I would never do because it's petty and trivial and lacking in nobility   
and besides that, it's stupid to give your enemy the chance of hamstringing you   
for such juvenile satisfaction. Well, stay around, then -- sooner or later milady's   
father will turn up and fillet you again, but far be it from me to deny you the   
satisfaction of being annoying.

[the Dark-Elf draws himself up and sneers at them before stalking off]

**Eol**:   
I'll be avenged upon the lot of you, I swear it!

**Captain**: [shaking his head]   
--Git.

**Aredhel**: [sharply]   
That's my husband you're talking about.

**Captain**:   
And you call him much worse than that.

**Aredhel**:   
Yes, but he's my husband. When you insult him you call my judgment into question.

**Captain**:   
? ? ?

[while he is still speechless the Apprentice murmurs something like "Who would   
do such a thing?" causing Aredhel to whirl and flare at him:]

**Aredhel**:   
Shut up. You haven't any right to tell me what I ought to do or have done.

**Fingolfin**:   
Daughter.

[she turns around guiltily. The High King is there, looking grave and a bit   
disappointed; he could be played by Roger Rees of Nicholas Nickelby. With him   
is the Steward, appearing somewhere between mildly interested and almost bored.]

What is all this turbulence that fills these Halls of grief and reconciliation?   
Ar-Feiniel, it is ill-becoming to berate the household, as well I have taught you.

[impatiently she drops him a quick bow and one towards the Apprentice]

Your heart is much troubled still, I perceive, from this dispute.

[frowning at the Apprentice]

Must I complain to your Master yet again regarding your lack of solemnity   
and dignity, then? I consider your internship here -- never yet having been   
interred -- to be a most improper experiment, and do not doubt that I shall   
say so again to the Lady.

**Apprentice**:   
I -- but -- I--

**Captain**:   
Ah, Your Majesty--

[he bows deeply]

--I must confess the fault in part is mine: we were baiting the young Elf,   
in truth, though it was but meant in humourous fashion. I merely wished to   
teach him the unwisdom of boasting, especially on a certain subject.

**Apprentice**:   
I wasn't boasting!

**Fingolfin**:   
Indeed? And what matter might that be, gentles?

**Captain**:   
Oh, the lad considers himself a master of the sword, one hears.

**Fingolfin**:   
You don't say.

**Steward**:   
Indeed, Your Majesty, one has heard this rumour as well -- though where and   
whence he has his training, one confesses one's self greatly curious. But   
since it's past testing, there seems little purpose in pursuing this . . .   
diversion.

[he manages to look disapproving and amused at once]

**Aredhel**:   
What do you mean, "past testing"--?

**Steward**: [shrugging]   
Surely one cannot think it's possible to put it to the proof? When all that   
have such skills in truth are ghosts, and held here, and so there's none to   
challenge in the world without, or to judge, that truly might make test of   
such a brag.

**Apprentice**:   
Are you so sure of that? --What about Lord Tavros?

**Fingolfin**:   
I would never disrespect the Hunter or his might -- but neither he, nor any   
of his following, have spent such years in such bitter wars as we, matched   
against enemies that tried our skill but to try to better it, and to outmatch   
us withal in numbers, if not in main strength.

**Apprentice**:   
Hmph.

[pause]

**Captain**:   
If you could fight one of us, we'd be more inclined to believe your claims.   
Or at least the general nature of them, since you can't possibly be as good   
as you think you are. But obviously that isn't going to happen -- at least   
not anytime soon.

**Apprentice**: [slyly]   
And why not?

**Captain**: [snorting]   
You don't think it's possible, surely, to engage in affray -- us being dead   
and you being not?

**Apprentice**:   
You needn't make it sound as though -- discorporation -- were some mark of   
achievement. It is -- at least for you Noldor -- a sign of disgrace.

[pause]

Besides, are you so sure? I've watched you at your games, and I think I could   
manage to conjure up the form of a sword as well as any of you.

[pause]

Unless of course, you're afraid to try.

[the Captain gives him a scornful look]

**Captain**:   
Afraid? As a friend of mine from the Old Country would say -- give me a   
break. No untried recruit would stand a chance against me.

**Apprentice**: [raising an eyebrow]   
Then let's put it to the test, shall we? Don't you chaps favour metaphysical   
experiments?

[the Captain sighs, shaking his his head, half-smiling]

**Aredhel**: [knowingly]   
Aha.

[to the Steward]

So how much have you got riding on this?

[he only shakes his head, looking surprisingly serious]

**Captain**:   
Battlefield rules, or this ritual combat nonsense?

**Apprentice**:   
What do you mean, "battlefield rules"?

**Captain**:   
Nothing one couldn't do in the flesh. No manifesting pits beneath your   
adversaries' feet, or boulders between, or previously-absent weapons,   
steeds, or abilities. A true contest of strength and skill according to   
one's respective limits, and no others -- real life has no such "rules   
of combat."

**Apprentice**: [petulantly]   
You talk to me as though I were a child--!

**Captain**:   
Because you are one, by comparison.

[the Apprentice hides a flicker of expression at this]

**Apprentice**:   
So, shall we have the great and noble Fingolfin confirm the sameness of   
our equpment?

**Aredhel**: [sharply]   
Are you mocking my father?

**Apprentice**: [surprised]   
No. Why should I be? None of us has managed what he accomplished, to withstand   
and cripple the Enemy, let alone single-handed!

[she looks suspicious; he asks, with another gracious nod to Fingolfin:]

Shoudln't we have His Majesty determine the exactness of our swords?

**Captain**:   
Why? That isn't how it would happen in the field. Work with what you're used   
to and comfortable with, and I'll the same. You don't think that an Orc-chief   
is going to set down his axe and take a sword because that's what you've got,   
do you? Or, better yet, measure and weigh both your blades before you set to?

[the Apprentice smiles ironically and draws a sword out of thin air, flourishing   
it rather impressively before falling into a "guard" position]

What, no exchange of names and titles and so forth?

**Apprentice**: [innocent]   
What, do you do that in combat, then?

**Captain**: [grinning]   
Well, no, --but I didn't expect you to--

[without missing a beat or cuing his intent he lunges forward and comes within a   
few inches of ending the match right then and there -- except that the other with   
equal agility has sidestepped and brought up his blade in a parry]

--be--

[clang]

--quite--

[clang]

--so--

[clang]

--good.

**Apprentice**: [smugly]   
Flattery will get you--

[he has to make a rather undignified duck to avoid unexpected decapitation and   
backs away, rattled]

**Captain**: [stalking him down]   
--a distracted adversary, lad--

[he leaps at his oppponent with a lightning-strike attack. The Apprentice manages   
to deflect and riposte, catching him in the wrist just before the edge of his   
vambrace starts -- and backs off, with a pleased expression]

**Apprentice**:   
A hit, to me.

**Captain**: [grimacing]   
Only an idiot does that in a real fight.

[he switches hands and moves in again, with a more cautious approach -- they circle   
and feint several times, before the Apprentice breaks first and closes, with a   
vigorous set-to in the classic 30's swashbuckler mode. With a particularly dextrous   
parry the Apprentice manages to disarm his opponent and the backstroke takes him   
hard across the leg halfway between knee and hip, bringing him down full length]

**Apprentice**:   
Hah!

[the Captain rolls out of range and comes up to a sprawl, braced on his right elbow   
-- with a dagger in his left hand that leaves it almost before anyone has realized   
what he has. It should take the Apprentice squarely in the eye -- except that it   
dissolves into a trail of glowing embers that vanish before they hit the ground. The   
Apprentice backs off and puts up his sword, waiting for his opponent to retrieve his   
own weapon and resume the match. The Captain, however, does not get up, only raises   
his good hand for attention.]

**Captain**:   
Your Majesty, gentles all -- I call you to witness. Unfair advantage of abilities   
has been used.

**Apprentice**:   
But you manifested "previously-absent weapons"!!!

**Captain**:   
Not so. I've always carried bootknives. Hundreds of witnesses, many of them   
hostile, in here, if you won't take my word for it. Your lack of observation   
skills is not my fault.

**Apprentice**:   
But--

**Captain**:   
--But turning them to harmless sparks is not something one ought to be able   
to do in the real world. Not even King Felagund could do that using the combined   
heritage of all three Kindreds. --Certainly not some young stay-at-home Vanyar   
twit who's never seen combat sorcery in action.

[to the onlookers]

--Was he, or was he not cheating there?

**Steward**: [offhand]   
Who can say? Perhaps he can do that Outside as well.

**Captain**: [mock concern]   
Shh! You'll blow his cover.

[the High King shakes his head, consideringly]

**Fingolfin**:   
Oh, I very much doubt that's the case, regardless. If Morgoth had possessed   
the ability to obliterate weapons from a distance he'd surely have disarmed me   
before I managed to mark him. Clearly unfair advantage has been employed here.

**Apprentice**: [starts to object further, then sighs resignedly and bows -- easily:]   
M'lord, I apologize for my action -- and the rashness of my assumption in   
presuming dishonorable behavior on your part, which led me into such error   
of judgment.

**Captain**: [nodding]   
Apology accepted.

**Apprentice**:   
Shall we to it again, sir?

**Fingolfin**:   
Certainly not.

[the Apprentice looks at him, surprised]

Your apology was nobly made. --The question of the penalty for cheating,   
however, is not yet settled.

**Apprentice**:   
Penalty?

**Fingolfin**:   
But of course. It is well that you regret your actions, but redress must   
still be made. Otherwise your apology is empty breath and echo.

[the Apprentice casts a worried glance around]

I cannot of course compel you to endure the consequences of your actions --   
only your own conscience, and honor, may do so.

[that decides it]

**Apprentice**:   
Your Majesty, I would not have you consider me coward, or worse yet, unfair.   
What forfeit must I make for my transgression?

**Fingolfin**: [to the Steward, in a manner of casual politeness]   
What say you, my lord? Over the yen my nephew entrusted many crucial matters of   
judgement to your discretion -- surely you have some thought as to what would   
be both fitting and serve well as memorial against future temptations?

[the Steward puts a musing forefinger to his lips, frowning in thought, then holds   
up his hand as though delivering a message]

**Steward**:   
If the young -- Elf -- considers himself unworthily matched, then let him match   
himself against the greatest warrior of us all, and thus be satisfied in his   
honor even as the price of dishonor shall be paid. --If -- no less -- such   
exactment should meet with your Majesty's willing approbation.

[Fingolfin raises an eyebrow]

**Fingolfin**:   
It does have a certain symmetry, I'll grant -- and I do find this enforced   
idleness wearying after a time.

[pause]

**Apprentice**: [rather desperately]   
Your Majesty, I am no Melkor.

**Captain**: [aside]   
No, nor Sauron, neither.

[the Apprentice shoots him a piqued glare before adding:]

**Apprentice**:   
The -- the punishment could in no wise be commensurate with the offense --   
whether I cheated or didn't. --Please.

[pause]

**Fingolfin**:   
Well then, if your taste for combat has worn cold, perhaps the gentler contest   
of the chess-table would be more to your liking?

**Steward**: [offhand]   
I hear that it is wonderful practice for those who are in need of learning   
patience.

[the Apprentice looks absolutely, and if possible, even more horrified at the   
prospect]

**Captain**:   
Sire -- permission to make a suggestion?

**Fingolfin**:   
Granted, my lord.

**Captain**:   
The King your nephew has an errand he has tasked me to undertake, the   
which shall doubtless require much in the way of walking -- would it not   
be appropriate to require him to fulfill that task, seeing as how he's   
temporarily incapacitated me?

**Steward**:   
That has a certain justness in it, I confess.

**Fingolfin**:   
What say you, gentle sir? Is such a forfeit acceptable to your honor and   
your occupations?

**Apprentice**: [a little ungraciously]   
Oh, I think I can fit it in.

[he grimaces, shaking his head, and lets the blade vanish from his hand]

**Fingolfin**:   
Of course, if it be too onerous a burden, I am most ready to give you a quick   
drubbing on the spot and we can get it over with.

[he extends his arm, and the Steward hands him a swordbelt and scabbard. The High   
King draws the memory of Ringil -- and the Apprentice pales]

**Apprentice**: [swallowing]   
Sire, your judgment is more than acceptable, and more than generous. I am quite   
glad to make such restitution to your nephew's servant.

**Captain**:   
Good, then you can start by giving me a hand up.

[he accepts the other's help -- the Apprentice's disgruntlement changes to   
concern when it becomes clear that he isn't faking. The Steward looks away   
with a tight expression while his friend struggles to stand and put away   
his sword.]

**Fingolfin**: [to Aredhel]   
Well, child, now that this brief excitement has passed like all earthly   
things, perhaps you would be kind enough to spend a little while communing   
with your parent in his lonely exile and indulge him in the diversion of   
a quiet game of chess?

**Aredhel**: [demurely]   
Pray excuse me, Father, but I am reminded by Lord Edrahil's words that   
I should practice my meditations and strive to attain tranquility and   
detatchment of spirit.

[she bows and hastily vanishes -- the Apprentice rolls his eyes]

**Steward**:   
Oh, deftly done.

**Captain**:   
She is good, isn't she?

**Apprentice**: [darkly]   
Too good for her own good. That one has -- an awful lot to learn.

**Fingolfin**:   
I would remind you that you are speaking of my daughter, young sir.

**Apprentice**:   
Why, so we were, Your Majesty. It is a shame my Master isn't here, so that   
she could join in this conversation with us.

[Fingolfin's expression changes to annoyance]

**Captain**:   
Well, come on -- don't dawdle about, your assignment's waiting.

[the Apprentice gives him a Look]

**Fingolfin**: [to the Steward]   
My lord, seeing that my own kin have abandoned me once again, might I for   
a little demand your gracious assistance in a brief round at the table?

**Steward**:   
Your pardon, but I must request your indulgence for the present: my lord   
requires that I spend more time in attendance on him, and less in diversions,   
Your Majesty.

**Fingolfin**: [reasonably]   
My nephew doesn't actually need you to do anything that he can't manage   
perfectly well by himself. This isn't Outside, nor does he have dominion   
over two thirds of these Halls and the troubles thereof. He can spare you   
for another match. --I understand that he wishes to embroil myself, if not   
my folk, in another scheme of his, is that not correct?

[pause]

**Steward**: [to the Captain]   
Would you--

**Captain**: [nods]   
--I'll make your apologies.

[he leads the Apprentice down the hall away from the others, still limping]

**Apprentice**: [remorseful]   
I hurt you.

[the Captain shrugs]

--I'm sorry.

**Captain**:   
Then you'd best put aside arms, and all thought of them. It comes with the   
territory. Get ready for it.

**Apprentice**: [nettled]   
I'm not afraid of being injured.

**Captain**:   
Then you're an idiot.

[an expression of annoyance flickers over the Apprentice's face, quickly vanishing]

**Apprentice**:   
"Surely one may regret the necessity for causing pain, even while not   
holding back from the deed?" -- Were those not your very words to my Master?

[the Captain gives him a sidelong glance, says nothing]

--How did you know I -- am not entirely what I seem?

**Captain**:   
I didn't -- until now.

[this sinks in]

His Majesty had made the conjecture first, of course, but we had no proof.   
Thank you for the confirmation.

**Apprentice**: [disgusted]   
Which--? -- Finrod. Of course it would be he. --I am still sorry I hurt you,   
but I confess -- not quite as much.

**Captain**: [cheerfully]   
At least I didn't have to fight the High King. That would not have been fun.

**Apprentice**:   
Why? I thought he was fond of your crowd.

**Captain**:   
What's that got to do with it?

**Apprentice**:   
. . .

**Captain**:   
You don't think he'd go easier on me because I'm not part of House Feanor,   
do you? Aside from refraining from an extra twist once he'd nailed me --   
it's not as though I'm some new recruit or beginning amateur. --No more   
than you are.

[the Apprentice looks a bit sick]

Good thing for you you made the right decision, eh?

**Apprentice**:   
--Wait -- why should you have to fight Fingolfin?

**Captain**:   
Had to draw you in somehow -- I'd forgotten about Master Eol.

**Apprentice**:   
This wasn't accidental at all, then?

**Captain**:   
By your Lady, no! Of course not!

**Apprentice**: [chagrinned]   
I was beginning to be fairly certain there was more to you than someone who   
just killed things.

**Captain**:   
Still too slow, then. --Speaking of which, you want to let Arda do as much   
of the work for you as possible. Don't fight your weight when you turn --   
use it. I know it looks impressive to jump around like that, but . . .

**Apprentice** [interrupting]   
--So what is this task your King has set you, which you've now arranged to   
pass on to me? Organizing a chorale society? Interviewing veterans of the   
Battle-under-Stars for his complete history of the War?

**Captain**:   
To ensure your complete and unconstrained cooperation in the matter of securing   
inside information regarding the Powers' deliberations concerning Melian's   
daughter and the Lord of Dorthonion.

[Nienna's Apprentice halts in shock]

**Apprentice**:   
You -- want me to spy on the councils of the gods for you?

**Captain**:   
Not for me --

**Apprentice**:   
For your king, then.

**Captain**:   
No. For the sake of Beren and Luthien.

[the Apprenice just stares at him]

There is after all nothing dishonorable in it; you've been doing it already   
for your own curiosity as well as to assist, have you not? And you cannot   
think that my sovereign lord means any harm or mischief to either Aman or   
the Powers, can you? We merely require that you bring the infromation you   
have witnessed to King Finrod in timely fashion and full measure, without   
reserve or deception, and without such noncooperative responses as providing   
so much information that no useful timely assessment of it can be made.

[with a narrow Look]

In other words, don't report every fiddly little detail of "and then Lady   
Yavanna started drumming her fingers on the table again," unless for some   
reason you really think that's relevant and are ready to give reasons for it.

**Apprentice**:   
Yavanna isn't there.

[hastily]

But I understand what you're getting at.

**Captain**:   
And you'll do it?

**Apprentice**: [dawning realization]   
You deliberately lost.

**Captain**:   
Oh, I didn't lose. --Not yet. Will you pay your forfeit, then?

**Apprentice**: [staring]   
You let me strike you down. Why?

**Captain**:   
We needed some certain way to provoke you into cheating. Nothing so likely   
as the appearance of it, eh? But it had to look plausible, hence desperate   
enough.

[the Apprentice looks both horrified and awed]

Don't worry, everyone knows we're all stark staring mad.

**Apprentice**: [slowly]   
I've thought that all along too -- but recently my Master said to me, "But   
what if they aren't?" I haven't been liking the answers to that one very much.   
--I'm liking them even less by the heartbeat.

[acridly]

That means you did cheat, though. Not technically perhaps, but in the deepest   
sense. It was all a setup, wasn't it?

**Captain**:   
No, I didn't have anything to do with the Endless Whirlwind -- they did that   
all on their own, as usual. I merely had to locate them.

**Apprentice**:   
But the High King, and your friend, and the rest of it -- that was all planned?

**Captain**: [grins]   
What, rooking you into it? Absolutely.

[with an ironic but not sneering bow, he gestures for Nienna's Apprentice to keep   
walking with him]   


* * *

_[to be continued...]_


	6. Act IV part II Scene IV through xviii

**ACT IV. BELOVED FOOL: BEYOND THE WESTERN SEA**   
**(Part II)**   


* * *

  
**SCENE IV.i**

  
  
  
**Gower**:   
--Truth, bereft of mask and veil,   
doth not ever show most fair; to eyes   
deceivéd, or by darkness or disguise   
rare, when concealments doth fail   
the unhid that which is well may seem   
as must be, would be, but troubling dream-- 

[The Hall] 

[Finarfin enters and leans heavily against the arch of the door, covering his face   
with his hands. Beren notices and gets up from the game quickly without saying   
anything, before any of the others can ask him why, and hurries over to him -- two   
of the Ten rise and follow him at a cautious distance] 

**Beren**:   
Sir . . . don't blame yourself, it really doesn't help-- 

[Finarfin turns, startled, and sees him, just as Beren is about to try to take   
him by shoulder] 

Oh! I thought! -- I mistook you for him -- I don't see very well here-- 

[the Noldor Elf stares at him, at first bewildered, then taking in the differences,   
and making the deductive leap] 

**Finarfin**:   
--Thou? -- it is -- needs must be-- 

[Beren drops instantly to one knee, bowing his head] 

**Beren**: [stammering worse]   
My lord -- I-- 

**Finarfin**: [tightly]   
So thou also art of the party that refuses to acknowledge, and yet proffrest   
respect -- and mockery -- in one. 

[Beren looks up, confused] 

**Beren**:   
Sorry? 

[Finarfin recognizes his complete ignorance of the situation] 

**Finarfin**:   
No matter. I comprehend it better now -- to my bitterest regret. 

**Beren**:   
I'm sorry, Sir, but -- I don't understand. 

**Finarfin**: [as if talking to himself as much as Beren]   
When word came that my eldest sibling was slain, it did come so close upon   
all the other ills of the time, that it seemed but part of the same, and   
fitting end to such meteoric journey. And when our middle brother perished,   
and my sons were slain in that great War of theirs, the horror of it and   
the grief was made a little less impossible to bear, for the glory of   
Fingolfin's deed, and the great valour of their defense -- they to stand   
by their adopted people, him -- to strike at the Dark King himself and   
wound him with his own hand no less, though but an Elf, as though he might   
have been a lesser Power, and the gods themselves did him honour for his   
deed, that weighed against the wrongs of his working. 

[he shakes his head] 

And then it came but a short whiles after, the news of mine eldest's fall,   
or that which I believed to be the whole and sum of it, and it seemed but   
pitiable and grotesque by compare, to be taken and slain but by a lesser   
Power, and in confusion and stealth, as a prisoner, not in open battle nor   
for his own name's sake -- a foolish end to a path of folly. --Thou dost   
look froward at my words. 

**Beren**: [terse]   
I would have died if not for him. 

**Finarfin**:   
And yet thou art dead nonetheless, and what in end achieved? One year or one   
yen, what is either set against my son's life? 

[Beren says nothing] 

Thou wert with him for the whiles. 

**Beren**: [in a whisper]   
Yes, my lord. 

**Finarfin**:   
Thy lady -- Stand up and let me see thee plain. 

[Beren obeys -- Finarfin shakes his head] 

Thy lady -- 

[he breaks off again] 

--Where is my son, since by thy words I guess he is not here? 

**Beren**:   
No idea, sir. 

**Finarfin**: [aside]   
I would both converse with him, and would not ken the least what word should   
say to him. 

[to Beren:] 

--Thy lady spake at no small length concerning his ordeal, and theirs, and thine. 

[pause] 

**Beren**:   
Tinuviel -- found us. It wasn't easy for her. 

**Finarfin**:   
--Dost say she overshoots, and thus doth miss the mark of truth? 

[pause] 

**Beren**:   
Probably not. 

[awkward silence -- into which a snatch of a rather inappropriate mortal song and   
laughter is heard from the vicinity of the fountain:   
". . . all over the town--   
Our bread it is white and our ale it is brown--   
Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree . . ."] 

**Finarfin**: [knowingly]   
And hence this dull and gloomsome place doth seem small burden -- mad though   
that seemeth to all else -- after what hath passed, to them. 

**Beren**:   
--Us. 

**Finarfin**:   
Thou wouldst still claim place with my son? 

**Beren**:   
Would or wouldn't, doesn't matter. We were there. 

**Finarfin**:   
And hence -- ye -- will not forsake him. That much now I do comprehend. 

[shaking his head] 

That such things be done -- be thought of --! I had not dreamt -- that his   
death should be of such a fashion as to make that which transpired at the   
Havens seem nigh civilized, nay, --glorious-- 

[his lip curls at the word] 

--never that it was not quick, nor of the least dignified . . . 

**Beren**: [most definitely not conciliatory tone]   
Why did you think it was? Because things like that just don't happen to good   
folks? --Or people you know? You think there's some kind of rule that no one   
you care about can get killed and eaten by monsters? --Or because you'd rather   
not think about those kind of things? 

[Finarfin clenches his hand, giving Beren a ferocious glare -- Beren gives it right   
back to him.] 

**Finarfin**:   
Aye. 

[breathing hard] 

And to my lasting shame -- I had in my grief yet some satisfaction, that   
being flouted and set down by him in sight of all our people, I should be   
proven right in end, and have some vindication, in the fulfillment of the   
words of Doom. 

[his control breaks and he breaks down for a moment, leaning back against the   
pillar, sobbing, before pulling himself together a little and wiping his eyes   
on his hand. Beren's expression changes to reluctant sympathy.] 

--How couldst mistake me for him? Is flesh so light a thing, that mattereth   
not to thee? 

**Beren**: [very different tone again]   
Because what I see -- is mostly light, from a distance. Close to -- yeah.   
And you -- have a shadow. 

[Finarfin wipes his eyes again, forcibly getting control over his emotions] 

Sir -- would you care to -- that fountain, it's real, not just an illusion,   
you -- you could wash up, have a drink there -- if you wanted-- 

**Finarfin**: [changing the subject]   
How is it that we are comprehensible to one another? For I think thy people   
would not have the same speech as ours. 

**Beren**: [struggling]   
Uh -- because of thoughts? Partly? Because we did speak Elvish, only it   
wasn't the way you speak it here. Only some of the words were close. That's   
what he told me. 

**Finarfin**:   
Thoughts? 

**Beren**: [giving up]   
The King would be able to explain it better. 

**Finarfin**: [coolly]   
Which king? Four kings of the Eldar are in this place. 

**Beren**:   
I meant -- your son, Sir. 

**Finarfin**:   
I have four sons, three of whom are here. 

**Beren**: [desperately]   
--Finrod, my lord. 

**Finarfin**:   
Thou dost babble like to an infant scarce past walking. 

**Beren**: [glum]   
I'm not always this bad at it. --Sometimes worse. 

**Finarfin**:   
How old art thou? 

**Beren**:   
Somewhere going on thirty. Ah, years -- the ones with four seasons, not the   
ones that are twelve-twelvemonths -- I don't know how long I've been dead   
now -- or does that even count . . . ? 

[winces] 

**Finarfin**:   
And yet thou'dst think to counsel my eldest child, whose years thou hast not   
one twenty-fourth part yet seen -- wherefore? 

**Beren**:   
Because he's my friend. 

**Finarfin**:   
Thou deemst self worthy to name thyself friend to my son? 

**Beren**:   
I don't -- but he does. And if he calls me that, how can I not call him the   
same back? Wouldn't make sense. 

[pause. Finarfin just looks at him, bleakly] 

Are -- are you sure -- you wouldn't like to -- the water, over there? 

**Finarfin**:   
Such a multitude is more than my spirit can bear at this hour. 

**Beren**: [heartfelt]   
I understand. 

[looks away -- sudden inspiration] 

The little hill over there, -- that's real, and we didn't make it, a goddess   
did -- if you wanted some privacy -- the roses are getting a little out of   
control, but that's only on the one side-- 

[pause] 

**Finarfin**:   
And dost thou own this place, to deal as thou wert host here, and never   
guest uninvited? 

**Beren**:   
She offered us -- Tinuviel and me -- the use of it -- Nessa, it was -- so I'm   
sure it's all right if I offered you my place -- unless you know she would   
mind you doing that for some other reason-- 

[he fumbles to a stop while Finarfin just looks at him again. A longish pause] 

**Finarfin**:   
I shall do that, then, and sit upon the grass, and think -- upon the deaths   
of kings . . . 

**Beren**: [hesitant]   
Sir -- what did you mean, four kings? I only know -- there's Finrod, and the   
High King, his uncle, -- uh, your brother -- I'm sorry about that -- and . . .   
Oh. Your father. 

[brief pause] 

That's still three. 

**Finarfin**: [precisely]   
In the outside world, among the living, the three tribes of the Eldar also   
hath each their king. There is Ingwe, who is lord over the Vanyar, and High   
King of us all in holy Valmar. There is Olwe, that is -- thy -- wife's --   
uncle, and ruleth over the Teleri in Alqualonde. And of the Noldor, the   
headship hath fallen by default upon -- myself. 

[Beren drops to one knee again.] 

**Beren**:   
Your Majesty. 

**Finarfin**: [tired]   
Do not mock me, Aftercomer. 

**Beren**: [getting more and more tongue-tied]   
S--Sire, why -- would I mock you? I -- never got -- to go to court, and   
learn the -- the ways of the High Elven court, but -- I was too young, and   
the Battle, and the invasion and you don't want to hear about that -- I   
always -- we always, it wasn't like it was me, on my own -- honored you. 

**Finarfin**: [acerbic]   
Before we met, at the least. 

**Beren**: [shaking his head]   
--You understand about that. 

[Finarfin nods, reluctantly] 

It meant a tremendous deal to Da that the ring had belonged to you as well   
as the Ki-- Finrod. You were one of the good guys in our stories. We were   
proud to be fighting for the House of Finarfin. 

**Finarfin**:   
--My ring? Stories? 

**Beren**: [desperately]   
Your son gave my father his ring. To us. Our House. --And the stories. But   
those were earlier. A lot. 

[pause] 

**Finarfin**:   
Thy thought is as the several links of a broken chain, mortal -- both   
disordered and impaired it seemeth. 

**Beren**:   
I'm sorry, sir. 

[winces] 

--Your Majesty. 

**Finarfin**:   
Peace. 

[grimaces. Aside:] 

What doth he see in thee, or in thy folk? 

**Beren**: [shaking his head]   
I don't know. 

**Finarfin**:   
I spake not to thee. 

**Beren**:   
It's hard to hide the truth here, Sir. --I know you'd like to hit me -- and   
I understand why. 

**Finarfin**: [abruptly]   
Thou didst speak of my signet. Hast it, then? 

[Beren reflexively moves as if to take it off, remembers, laughs bitterly and   
holds up his hand for the other's inspection. Finarfin in turn reflexively   
reaches forward to touch it, but their hands pass through each other as though   
neither had substance. The Elf-king stifles a sob.] 

**Beren**: [whispering]   
You loved him best . . . 

**Finarfin**: [shaking his head]   
I ever strove -- not to remake my own father's error -- and in the Song   
I truly believe that I neither set one child above the rest, nor each at   
rivalry to another . . . 

[looking off in a reverie] 

. . . yet did their mother from the first declare . . . that surely I gave   
equal of strength and spirit to his forging, no less than she . . . for ever   
our thought and heart were as one, so that he might finish whate'er I did   
begin, of hand's work or of speech, and his joy was ever my healing, when the   
strife of my elders was a weariness and a chill upon my soul . . . and never   
were we wroth with one another . . . saving once only. --And now the hand I   
did close in mine to teach the shaping stroke of burin, and laughed to see   
grown to match mine own, is cold as the clay that devours it -- but no colder   
than his soul to me -- aye, as the winds off Helcaraxe . . . and that is   
hardest hurt of all, and all of my doing, and naught of thine. 

**Beren**: [softly]   
Sir, he spoke to me of that -- to regret that parting -- and to claim part   
of the responsibility-- 

[Finarfin turns a quelling stare on him and he is silent] 

**Finarfin**:   
Not merely to counsel, but to console, thou didst endeavor -- because he   
is thy friend. 

[Beren nods, mutely] 

--Would there were one that might serve me in such wise--! 

[he walks off towards the hill; Beren rises and turns back towards the falls.   
His two watchers move to meet him and put their arms over his shoulders as all   
three return to the group.] 

**Warrior**: [anxious]   
What was that about? 

**Beren**:   
He didn't know. Or -- he didn't understand. 

**Youngest Ranger**: [fiercely]   
--He can't. 

**Beren**: [regretful]   
I think he knows that now . . . 

[Returning to the chess-game, he still gives a worried look over to where   
Finarfin is seated with his chin resting on his forearms, staring into the   
middle distance.]   


* * *

**SCENE IV.ii**

  
  
  
[Elsewhere: the council chamber] 

[Luthien who has again taken the floor, stands paused in mid gesture, tearful,   
distraught, and indomitably stubborn.] 

**Nerdanel**: [amazed]   
He gave up a Silmaril for thee? Child, never let him go! 

[Luthien stares at her, wary, not expecting anyone to be on her side any more,   
and thinking this has to be mockery -- the others present exchange dismayed looks:   
this is not working well at all.]   


* * *

**SCENE IV.iii**

  
  
  
[Elsewhere: a wide columned space of indeterminate size, very dim, fading into   
shadows on all sides. Finrod is standing alone (apparently) in the middle of it,   
in a listening attitude] 

**Finrod**:   
I know this is an imposition, and I'm awfully sorry. But I do need help,   
and you do have leverage that I haven't. If you'll just let me explain,   
and then decide whether or not it's worth your while, I will be deeply in   
your debt . . . because I feel quite certain that once you hear the story,   
you'll be only too willing to lend your assistance. 

[pause] 

And I know I'm being impossibly presumptuous, but at least I'm honest about   
it. And you can always send me away afterwards if I'm wrong. 

[silence -- the darkness starts to acquire a texture in front of him, with a very   
elegant, rather ornate but quite delicate carven archway in the middle of a ghostly   
wall, slowly becoming visible. (In the old days such an illusion would be worked   
with scrims and lighting, and mirrors, instead of computer effects.) Finrod bows.] 

Thank you, cousin. 

[he enters the gate which stands invitingly open, and which closes behind him,   
the entryway fading into the greyness once again.] 

* * *

**SCENE IV.iv**

  
  
  
[The Hall] 

[Beside the fountain-basin: Beren and the Youngest Ranger are back to playing   
tafl; the rest of the Ten are scattered around apparently randomly, passing   
the flask and talking, or working on the waterfall -- but a trained eye would   
recognize how easily they could pull into a defensive formation should the need   
arise. At the moment the frieze behind is getting a high-relief sculpture of   
trees as a screen in front of the geometric Noldorin-style bas-relief surround,   
and the two artists working on the project are arguing hotly about it.] 

**Soldier**: [defensive]   
But hemlocks are bilateral. This is a completely accurate depiction of   
their schema. 

**Ranger**:   
But it doesn't look real! 

[The Captain enters, Nienna's Apprentice in tow. The latter does a startled   
double-take on seeing what has happened to the fountain -- the Captain looks   
critically at the progress on it.] 

**Soldier**:   
I know! But why? 

**Third Guard**: [breaking in]   
Look -- you're not randomizing and that's why they look like a line of cirth   
instead of a forest. You've got to vary the groupings by factors of-- 

**Captain**: [to the chessplayers]   
--What are those three going on about? 

**Beren**: [shrugs]   
I think they're arguing about aesthetics and symmetry in nature. It could be   
they're just talking about trees. "Algorithms" never used to be part of my   
everyday vocabulary. 

**Captain**: [innocent]   
And it is now? 

[they both grin] 

So, nothing I need to worry about or get involved in. 

**Youngest Ranger:**   
No, sir. --Not yet at least. 

**Captain**: [to the arguing Elves, offhand]   
Lady Vaire's going to have conniptions when she sees all that, you know. 

**Ranger**:   
We'll put it all back the way it was after, sir. 

**Apprentice**: [still piqued]   
--"Conniptions?" What is a conniption? 

**Ranger**:   
Conniptions -- it's always plural. 

**Apprentice**:   
What sort of a word is that? 

**Captain**:   
You'll have to ask Beren -- it's one of his. 

**Beren**:   
It's Taliska, sir. It means, um, getting really annoyed and losing your temper.   
With a lot of noise and so forth. 

**Apprentice**:   
Then why not just say so? 

**Beren**:   
Dunno. "Conniptions" is shorter? 

**Apprentice**:   
Not that much shorter. 

**Beren**: [shrugs]   
I guess we just liked the way it sounded. It's one of those old words that   
everybody kept using. And it's not just ordinary getting-angry. It's, you   
know, when you . . . say, find the little kids playing sword fights with   
your best skinning knives because sparks come off real metal and you don't   
whether to yell at them for doing something so incredibly dumb because it's   
dangerous or because there's three hours worth of sharpening to do now to   
get all the nicks out. 

**Apprentice**: [frowning]   
I . . . suppose I can see what you're getting at. 

**Beren**:   
Or like when you tell your brother and your younger cousin that the adults   
don't care if they jump on the smokehouse roof because you're angry at them   
for telling about the hole in the big kettle and all the hams fall down and   
all of you get screamed at because you should have known better than to   
believe him any more than he shouldn't have said it. 

[pause] 

**Apprentice**:   
Ah. 

**Captain**:   
Or, for example, Morgoth, after discovering that someone's nicked a Silmaril   
off his crown. 

**Beren**: [straight-faced]   
No, none of my elders ever set the hearth-guard on us, not even when we   
accidentally ruined some of the laundry testing to see if wet fabric really   
was fireproof. 

**Captain**:   
Perhaps more like Feanor discovering that someone had invited his siblings   
to dinner and hadn't bothered this time to give him the opportunity to turn   
the invitation down? --Though I only heard about that at second-hand, so I   
can't vouchsafe that it would quite fit the definition. 

**Apprentice**: [dry]   
I do begin to get the picture. 

[to Huan] 

--What are you about? 

[Huan only grins and wags his tail -- it's perfectly obvious that he's in dog   
Elysium, lying down having lots of different people to pet him] 

**Captain**:   
Well, run along -- go find out something useful and report back here when   
you have. 

**Apprentice**:   
You're enjoying this, aren't you? 

**Captain**: [smiling]   
Clever, aren't you? 

[shaking his head, Nienna's Apprentice goes off. The Captain lounges on the rocks   
next to where they have set up their game, watching.] 

**Ranger**:   
What happened to Lord Edrahil, sir? 

**Captain**:   
We lost him to chess again. 

[his subordinates shake their heads knowingly. Beren gives them all questioning looks] 

Fingolfin's an absolute fiend for the game and not too many are good enough to   
give him a decent match. Those who are tend to be rather . . . wary of being   
conscripted, these days. Princess Aredhel saw an opening and bolted, and in the   
interest of winning the High King to our side he stepped into the gap. --Not   
that it would take much prompting in any case. Since he's also too proud to   
lose quickly and get it over with, it could be quite a while. 

**Youngest Ranger**: [gesturing to the tafl setup]   
Speaking of chess -- do you want to play, sir? 

**Captain**:   
And see how fast he can break his record for trouncing me? No, I'll just enjoy   
the calm until the next crisis hits. Who's winning? 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
We are. Beren's won four, and I've won four. 

**Beren**: [frowning]   
See, I would have said "nobody." But you're right, we're both winning. It's   
funny -- same situation, two totally different ways of looking at it. 

**Captain**: [bland]   
You know, that's practically profound. 

**Beren**:   
I thought you liked kingstone, sir. 

**Captain**:   
Oh, as a diversion it's all right. But it isn't my preferred diversion, if   
others are to be had. Like watching ice form, for one. 

[pause] 

**Beren**:   
Oh. --That boring, huh? 

**Captain**:   
Ice crystals are quite fascinating, the way they sheet over a pond. 

**Beren**:   
Yeah, but you usually watch stuff like that when you're waiting for something   
to actually happen. 

[without looking up from the board] 

Run into House Feanor on your mission, sir? 

[pause] 

**Captain**:   
Ah -- no. 

**Beren**:   
You didn't ask me why I asked that. 

[silence] 

You're favoring your arm, too. What happened? 

**Captain**:   
. . . 

**Beren**:   
All right, that means that the reason for it was something about me. 

[everyone now watching with interest -- the Captain looks away, with an expression   
of self-directed exasperation] 

But it wasn't the Feanorians. Huh. --Was it that guy who came in with you? 

**Captain**:   
Beren-- 

**Beren**:   
'Cause Huan likes him. He was the one who brought Amarie in here. And I think   
he's the same one who brought us over here from wherever I was at the beginning,   
only I'm not sure because everything was really hazy then. If it was him, there   
was something besides, or else I don't think Huan would still be happy to see   
him, if he was trying to hurt you. 

[pause] 

I don't think he's really an Elf, either. 

[those around him share looks] 

**Captain**:   
Why would you think that, now? 

**Beren**: [shrugging]   
Doesn't look the same as Amarie. Something about the -- not color, but something   
like that -- of the light. Like the difference between a real piece of rock-   
crystal and a piece of glass, kind of. I remember once there was a case my uncle   
had to try, where there was a foreign merchant who sold a brooch to somebody in   
Drun that turned out not to be real -- it was real, but not what it was supposed   
to be, see -- So anyway the barbarian guy claimed he'd been cheated in turn and   
gave back the money, but my uncle kept the brooch to keep him honest after and   
paid him for the price of the tin and the glass, which wasn't much. He showed   
it to us after they got back, and the funny thing was, it looked the same --   
I mean, it looked right, you'd say, oh, that's gold and gems, all right --   
until my aunt put hers, that came from here-- 

[he stops for a second, and closes his eyes] 

--came from Nargothrond and was actually made of gold and crystal, not just   
a thin -- wash? right? -- over the cheap metal. And then when you had the one   
that was solid and the fake one side by side, you'd never think that they were   
the same thing at all. Only this is more like the difference between a little   
bit of light coming from a coal, and a little bit of light coming from a candle   
in a lamp that's mostly closed. One of them still has more light -- only you   
can't see it. 

[long silence -- the Ten look meaningfully at each other.] 

**Captain**:   
Very interesting. --As it so happens, you're right. --But he'd be much obliged   
if you didn't mention it. 

**Beren**:   
Okay. 

[he moves a piece on the board and takes two pawns] 

Your move. 

[looking up] 

Is that good enough? 

[the Captain nods] 

**Captain**:   
No more oaths. I trust you. 

**Beren**:   
Thank you. 

[pause] 

I don't know what you guys think you're doing, let alone whether it will   
work , but -- thank you. 

**Second Guard**:   
I wonder how it is that you can tell? None of us could be quite sure. 

[Beren shrugs again -- the Captain laughs not unkindly] 

**Captain**:   
Perhaps any Man's ghost might, or perhaps . . . only one who's touched a   
Silmaril, or is married to an Elf, or has passed through Melian's labyrinth,   
or been healed by a deity's child, or . . . so many possibilities, and no way   
at all to put them to the proof. Normal rules don't seem to apply to Beren   
any more than to Huan here. 

[Huan, hearing his name, looks over and thumps his tail] 

That reminds me-- 

[frowning] 

You kept saying something odd, but I didn't want to interrupt you any more --   
you kept on saying, or seeming to say, that Huan said things. Now I presumed   
I was misunderstanding -- surely you meant that Luthien was with Huan when she   
berated you -- not that the two of them took you to task for running away. 

**Beren**:   
That's right. 

**Captain**:   
Beren. 

**Beren**:   
Uh, that's right, Huan was yelling at me too. 

[realizing that this is getting him some very strange looks] 

What? He can talk. 

**Warrior**:   
Well, to animals, of course. We've seen him speak with other kelvar, not   
just the pack, but -- speak? Like us? 

**Beren**:   
Yeah. 

[at their expressions] 

I'm not joking. Or crazy. He doesn't do it very often. But you can ask   
Tinuviel, she was there too. 

[everyone looks at Huan, who grins happily and whines for more attention, waving   
a forepaw where he's lying down] 

**Warrior**: [smiling uncertainly, not sure if it's a joke, still]   
So . . . what does he say? 

**Beren**: [shrugging]   
Different things. He told her what to do in Nargothrond, and he told me to   
stop being an unthinking idiot and what we had to do to get into Angband   
that might work. And . . . 

[he gets quieter, looking into Huan's eyes] 

. . . he . . . told me good-bye, that this was the fate he'd Foreseen us meeting   
maybe, and he was sorry he hadn't been able to save me, and that we'd meet again,   
and not to be afraid . . . and he called me brother. 

[very subdued, they look at the Hound, and at Beren, and at each other.] 

**Captain**: [very softly]   
You said he sent the Eagles to you. 

[Beren nods] 

I think . . . perhaps friend Huan is lord of far more than dogs. 

[into the awed, no longer doubting silence, Huan makes a short, sharp, "don't   
stare at me!" bark and elbows closer until he can jam his head under the Captain's   
arm for a hug before stretching up into a half-crouch -- then grabbing at the   
nearest Guard's trailing scabbard and worrying it playfully like a stick] 

**Fourth Guard**: [dragged half-sideways]   
Hey! 

[Beren slaps at Huan's forepaw, making him settle down] 

**Beren**:   
Definitely more -- but still Lord of Dogs. 

[the Captain laughs, and then suddenly freezes, shaking his head] 

**Captain**: [carefully not looking over at Finarfin on the hill]   
And now I win the distraction prize. I do hope you lot are aware that his   
Majesty's father is in the vicinity? 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
It's all right, sir -- they already had it out, and Beren told him off. We   
didn't even have to intervene. 

**Beren**: [sighing]   
For the last time -- I didn't tell him off. 

**Captain**:   
Oh, I doubt it. 

**Beren**:   
Doubt what? 

**Captain**:   
That that was the last time. So what is it? --Damn. I really don't need this   
right now. 

**Beren**:   
I don't think he's going to hassle you again, Sir. I guess they only got the   
really short version in Tirion. He assumed it was different from the way it   
really happened and then Tinuviel told about it in more detail and he realized   
it was different from what he had imagined had happened to us and he's really   
upset. 

[pause] 

He might come apologize, given how much he and Finrod have in common, unless   
maybe he'd think it would be too rude to bring it up to you. 

[several people glance over at Finarfin in the distance] 

**Captain**: [not sounding at all enthusiastic]   
Perhaps I should go over and talk to him, then . . . 

**Beren**: [shrugs]   
He doesn't really want to talk to anybody right now, except maybe Finrod, but   
he doesn't really want to talk to him either . . . okay, I guess I did kind   
of tell him off. --But I wasn't as tough on him as he was on himself. 

**Captain**: [running his hands over his face]   
No, I don't imagine that you were. Oh Lady -- more complications for Himself   
to deal with. What'll be next, I wonder? 

**First Guard**: [looking over at the empty doorway]   
Ware! 

**Beren**:   
Sir, you know you're never supposed to ask that. 

[enter two Noldor shades, elegantly outfitted and armed -- James Purefoy   
(Mansfield Park, A Knight's Tale) and Ben Browder (as "Captain Larraq," Farscape)   
might portray them -- wearing expressions both sardonic and disdainful. Next   
to them, Finrod's people suddenly look a lot scruffier and more motley; Huan   
straightens up a bit and whines, but does not get up or make any other sound.] 

**Captain**: [snorting]   
It would be him. And he's learned to bring a second. Damn, damn, damn. Beren-- 

**Beren**:   
--I know, stay out of the way. 

**Captain**:   
Actually, I was going to say, use your discretion. That's the former Lord   
Seneschal of Formenos, who learned the hard way that ambushing an ambush of   
Balrogs is a bad idea, and making fun of King Finrod an even worse one --   
and his counterpart from Aglon, who didn't make it to Nargothrond during the   
Bragollach. They're likely to say absolutely anything and do whatever they   
think they can get away with. I'm planning on letting someone else deal with   
any necessary violence myself right now. 

**Beren**:   
Sounds like a good plan to me. 

[the Feanorian lords stop a short ways off (ie, a safe distance) and address each other:] 

**Lord Seneschal of Formenos**: [loudly]   
What an impossible place this is -- if it weren't enough that the facilities   
should be dismal and the amenities nonexistent, the service too must be a bad   
joke on top of it all! Things were much better managed under my control at   
Formenos. 

**Lord Warden of Aglon**:   
Even in the barbarous circumstances of the Old Country we did better than   
this. --Of course, the company at Aglon was far preferable as well. 

**Formenos**:   
That . . . would not be difficult to accomplish, I think. Saving yourself,   
of course. 

**Aglon**: [graciously]   
Likewise. --Stars above, what have we here . . . ? 

[their attempts to suddenly "notice" the others lose some of the effect as the   
affectation of surprise is overtaken by the real thing at the realization of the   
scope of the project which has taken over most of the back wall by now. The Lord   
Warden of Aglon rallies valiantly, though:] 

I'm afraid that I can't approve of the results of such economizing efforts.   
Charity projects given to students never equal work created by fully-trained   
and reimbursed professionals. 

**Formenos**: [sniffing disdainfully]   
Do you think that's it? 

**Aglon**:   
Well, I can't see anyone paying for that, can you? --At least, I would most   
certainly hope that they're not. 

**Formenos**:   
Oh, I don't know -- I've had grave doubts about the aesthetic sensibilities   
of our lords and masters ever since I asked the Earthqueen about those bizarre   
little animals with the horns and she replied, and I quote, "But they're so   
adorable, in a homely little way." It's one thing to say that they serve a   
useful purpose in irrigating impacted root systems in grasslands, but to claim   
to find them "perfectly charming" argues a blindness born of partiality. 

**Aglon**:   
Which kelvar were those? The ruel? 

**Formenos**:   
No -- though I agree, they also seem badly-constructed and unnecessary to me.   
If you want a goat, why not make a goat? and if a deer, well, we already have   
various sorts of deer. How many of these betwixt-and-between herbivores does   
Arda need? I was speaking of those middling grey animals, something like a   
cross between hounds and swine, with spiked snouts -- I've no idea what they   
are, since she only asked me -- with what, in my opinion, was most unseemly   
levity -- what I wanted to call them. I understand, however, that they are   
remarkably docile and requiring of attention, which may explain the attraction   
somewhat. 

[various of their targets swallow grins] 

Still, I find it difficult that that even the Powers would want this mess --   
though equally, I can't believe they'd let anyone make such a chaotic construct   
in their offices were it not by design. 

[Huan makes a plaintive grumble -- the Lord Warden of Aglon scowls at him, and he   
puts his head down on his forepaws for the moment, unhappy at the conflict, but   
not ashamed of his decisions.] 

**Captain**: [genial]   
This is "let" as in "not worth one's time or trouble to make us desist or   
undo, for the present," not "let" in the sense of "certainly, do whatever   
you please." Rather like Lady Yavanna letting Feanor make the Silmarils,   
as a matter of fact. We didn't ask permission to be back here, or the rest   
of it, any more than you've done. 

**Aglon**: [coldly]   
They seem to let you get away with an awful lot. 

**Captain**:   
You haven't figured it out yet, have you? 

[as they haven't gotten this cryptic remark either, the Feanorians ignore him   
-- the Lord Seneschal of Formenos scrutinizes the mural with a critical eye,   
while his junior associate strolls over to frown upon Beren.] 

**Aglon**:   
So you really have got an illegal mortal back here as well. 

**Beren**:   
Is it my move or yours? 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Er -- yours. 

**Aglon**:   
Mortal! 

**Beren**: [looking up]   
What? The name is Beren, by the way, since you didn't ask. Seems kind of   
silly bothering about titles now, but there used to be a "Lord" in front   
and "of Dorthonion" after, too. 

**Aglon**:   
Do you presume to ignore me, Usurper? 

**Beren**: [sighing]   
--This again? What is it with you people? Were you even talking to me before?   
'Cause it didn't sound like it. 

**Aglon**:   
Stand up when your superiors address you. 

**Beren**: [calling over]   
Were they ever in our chain of command? 

[the Captain shakes his head] 

Sorry. We're busy. 

[the Lord Warden of Aglon steps forward and disarranges the pieces with his foot;   
the players exchange disgusted looks] 

**Aglon**: [pleasantly]   
Again, I repeat my request. --Stand up when I speak to you. 

**Fourth Guard**: [undertone]   
Not what I call a request. And they complain about the language changing   
over there! 

**Beren**: [tolerantly]   
You know, I'd learned not to do stuff like that by the time I was eight.   
Of course, getting walloped, or extra chores, and having to apologize is   
a good incentive to mind your manners and actually think before acting   
on impulse. 

[the Youngest Ranger starts putting the game back together, not saying a word] 

**Aglon**: [looking down with folded arms]   
You've an insolent mouth for one here but on sufferance, human lawbreaker. 

**Beren**: [nods]   
Horse thief, dog thief, jewel thief, breaking and entering, infiltration,   
sabotage, assassination attempts, you name it. I've got kings, warlords,   
demigods, princes, armies and now gods upset at me, so you're going to have   
to wait your turn. --Though some of those do overlap. --Your former bosses   
must be pretty steamed over the fact that I succeeded where they didn't even   
have the nerve to try -- I imagine that must take some of the satisfaction   
out of his curse coming true for Celegorm. And if even half the story's   
gotten around by now, people have to be looking pretty strangely at Curufin   
for trying to kill the one person who actually succeeded in defeating Morgoth   
in a duel. 

**Aglon**:   
You! What claim is this, braggart? You, defeat the Lord of Fetters? 

**Beren**: [shaking his head]   
Not me -- my wife. The King's daughter of Doriath. I just chipped off the   
Silmaril after she was done. --Which is still more than any of you guys ever   
accomplished. 

[the Warden of Aglon goes to kick Beren over where he is sitting -- which proves   
inadvisable, as the Sindarin Ranger quietly slams a fist -- with chessman -- into   
his supporting knee, knocking him painfully flat and following by leaping on him   
before he can recover, yanking his arm up behind his back and setting the point   
of a realistically-remembered dagger to the back of his neck. As his senior   
associate moves to assist him the Captain extends his uninjured leg, tripping him,   
upon which the nearest of the Ten efficiently subdue and disarm him as well,   
more-or-less assisted by Huan, who has bounded exuberantly in over the gameboard.] 

**Formenos**: [almost speechless with fury]   
You -- dishonorable ruffians-- 

**Captain**:   
I beg your pardon? Beren wasn't doing anything to you -- to say nothing of   
the rest of us. 

**Formenos**:   
Setting upon us with guile and greater numbers--! 

**Captain**:   
I don't understand. 

**Aglon**: [snarling in pain]   
You outnumber us, idiot! 

**Captain**: [puzzled frown]   
Er -- yes, surely you'd noticed that already? That's usually the way it is. 

**Formenos**:   
But -- you -- 

**Captain**:   
Changed the rules. It happens, in war. I should think he'd be aware of it,   
even if you didn't live long enough to learn that lesson. 

[getting up, looking casual but in fact being careful, points to the door] 

Bring them along, this is getting boring. 

[his subordinates do so, with a little more enthusiasm than necessary.] 

**Aglon**: [shouting as they drag him along]   
The Weaver will hear of this! 

**Youngest Ranger**: [patiently, still holding him up at knifepoint]   
Yes, milord. I'm sure she will, if she hasn't heard you already. 

[over on the hill, Finarfin is jarred out of his introspection by the ruckus,   
and stares over through the shadows at the fray] 

**Formenos**: [ice]   
I will bring my complaints to the Lord of the Halls himself, and your lord   
will be answerable for your behaviour. 

**Captain**:   
Can you be sure to do it while we're around? I want to hear what his Lordship   
has to say after hearing you complain. 

**Warrior**:   
I'll wager the buckle with lions on it that I used to have that he'll ask,   
"Why are you wasting my time with this?" 

**Captain**:   
Hm, no, I think it'll be, "You should be grateful you got off as lightly as   
you did, since you won't the next time you try kicking one of their friends   
in the face." --Pitch 'em out. 

[the Nargothronders expel their rivals out into the corridor, where the two other   
Noldor shades pick themselves up and after a moment's temptation, consider the   
advisability and limp off, their expressions boding no good. As the victorious   
party returns to their companions, Finarfin catches the eye of the Captain and   
beckons him over to the hill; after a moment's hesitation the latter obeys the   
summons. As Beren's opponent kneels down and finishes restoring their match:] 

**Beren**: [undertone]   
Is he going to be okay? 

**Youngest Ranger**: [whispering]   
He's too swarn to give in for anything that would in life heal of its own.   
He'd rather just put up with it until he can forget about it. Mind over mind,   
I guess you'd call it. 

**Beren**:   
Does it hurt, to . . . disappear? 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
No. A little bit disorienting, that's all. It's just a matter of honour not   
to give anything he isn't prepared to take. 

**Beren**:   
I see. 

[still worried, nodding towards where the Captain is coming to stand before the   
living King] 

What about . . . ? 

**Youngest Ranger**: [shrugging]   
You didn't have any trouble managing him. 

**Beren**:   
No, but -- he wasn't my boss, ever, either. If I was his liege it would have   
been different. 

[he sighs and frowns at the board, trying to remember what he was going to do,   
since nothing else is in his control. The camera's focus shifts to the hill,   
where the Captain bows, his expression a bit wary, to Finarfin:] 

**Finarfin**:   
Dreamt I, or did in truth behold, deed of mayhem at yonder egress? 

**Captain**:   
I wouldn't call it mayhem, sir -- a spot of rowdiness, perhaps. But nothing   
so much as mayhem. 

**Finarfin**: [disapproving]   
Thou dost seem somewhat worse for wear, and yet hast not learnt lesson to   
avoid affray, than enter it. For I am certain thou dost go somewhat halt,   
nor that my fancy, for all thou wouldst conceal. 

**Captain**:   
Oh, that's nothing. That lot can't touch me. --Couple of scratches from a   
friendly set-to with security. 

**Finarfin**:   
Art not content to be rebel, and thy offense forgiven, but still must thou   
challenge the gods? Or dost thou jest? --I cannot longer tell, with thee. 

**Captain**: [mischievous]   
Don't worry about it, sir -- sometimes I can't either. 

**Finarfin**: [grim smile]   
And were those known to me, that thy confederates did thus discharge from   
here in such high-spirited glee? 

**Captain**:   
I'm not sure, my lord. I can't recall if they ever visited the House in the   
old Days, and you might have met them around the City, but I don't really know.   
They're followers of your eldest brother. They felt like starting some trouble,   
beginning with Lord Beren, so we obliged. 

[pause] 

**Finarfin**:   
I ken not whether I should commend, else condemn -- yet neither, I deem, will   
make any difference to thy deeds. 

**Captain**:   
I'm afraid not, my lord. 

**Finarfin**: [dryly]   
Nay, and why should it, at this late pass, that did not formerly? 

[the Captain winces a little. Pause] 

**Captain**: [hopeful]   
Was that all, sir? 

**Finarfin**:   
Nay, thou shalt not 'scape so easily, lad. 

[checks briefly, and continues with a faint grimace:] 

When I did ban you from my doors, I spake in anger, not in considered judgment. 

**Captain**:   
But not without justice. 

**Finarfin**:   
Still 'twas of wrath, that word of mine, and so I would temper it with mercy:   
thou mayest of a certain come to see thy kin, when ever thou dost will, when   
thou departest hence. 

**Captain**:   
Thank you, sir. 

[he sighs] 

--Assuming they want anything to do with me, of course. 

**Finarfin**: [dryly]   
Make no doubt of that. 

[aside] 

And that indeed hath weight upon my clemency -- for I would not gladly face   
thy sister with such a decision of my making! 

**Captain**:   
At least I've given up slamming doors when I lose my temper. 

[Finarfin gives him a sidelong look] 

It doesn't do for a senior officer -- far less for a spy. 

**Finarfin**:   
The singular -- openness -- of these Halls is far from convenient, and eke   
most disquieting to we that are little used. 

**Captain**: [sympathetic]   
That it can be. 

**Finarfin**: [sternly]   
Yet still thou shalt not have place nor post again, among my people, that   
hast deserted aught thou didst have. 

[the Captain nods --silence. Relenting:] 

--Unless thou canst not find other station, and work betimes. There shall   
be place always at hearthside for thee. 

**Captain**: [gently]   
I thank you, my lord. But that will not be necessary, I think. I wouldn't want   
to take anyone's job, not just hers, and I don't know that I'd be comfortable   
peeling potatoes and plucking fowl -- not that I've objection to such work as   
such, but I doubt that, quite frankly, anyone else would be quite easy around   
me -- or that I could keep from trying to reorganize any situation you put me   
into, for efficiency as I saw it. 

**Finarfin**:   
I would not have thee forwandered and wanting for want of friends. 

**Captain**:   
You needn't fear for that, Sir. Aman's a big place, and I know how to live   
off the land: so long as I don't kill any white deer by mistake, I should be   
quite all right. 

**Finarfin**:   
Thou wouldst live as our ancestors in the wilds, ere thou'd dwell 'neath   
my roof? 

**Captain**: [still more gently]   
Would you make me a lord, set among your highest counsellors, and give me   
authority to do as I saw fit throughout the land? 

[they look at each other without speaking] 

I didn't expect so. 

**Finarfin**: [cool]   
So it is power thou dost hunger for, more than all else. 

**Captain**: [untroubled by the accusation]   
My lord, I know as well as any that you never coveted power over others, nor   
pride of place, nor anything saving the first love of your father. And yet --   
now that you have had this task of rule, that never was wanted, and surely   
cannot be quite so light a burden, despite the peace of Valinor without us   
to trouble it, could you ever set it aside, and gladly return to the quiet   
of study and song and your arts, leaving it to another while you stood by   
powerless to correct? 

[Finarfin starts to say something, and cannot.] 

Interesting -- it is not only we unhoused who cannot speak counter to what   
is held at heart, in this place. 

[the King gives him a Look of mingled exasperation and admiration] 

**Finarfin**:   
Was't ever so, that thou wert so wise, and only kept thy counsel to thine   
own self, in former Day? 

**Captain**:   
I . . . don't recall, truly, any more. I don't remember that it mattered much   
to me, one way or the other, what was said by you and your brothers, and your   
father, save that it distressed you, and Lady Earwen, and the children, and   
so us for your sakes, that were your people -- except to make remark upon   
someone else's words to amuse those near me. The arguments and rivalries didn't   
change the fact that I had to make sure there was meat on the table, and didn't   
prevent me from riding out in the wind and the light of the Trees, or wandering   
through the salt-marshes when it looked like the water was the sky for stars. 

**Finarfin**: [shaking his head]   
How dost thou support this, that wert ever restive within doors? Is't not   
passing heavy on thy soul? 

**Captain**: [frankly]   
Yes. --But I have friends, and we are not wanting in amusement, and it is   
only for a time. I can wait. 

**Finarfin**:   
If mine eldest son's true-love reconcileth not with him, I think he will   
not go from here. 

[pause] 

And thou wilt bide here as well. --Why? Why hast thou not reproach, nor for   
this, nor for the manner of thy -- death? 

**Captain**: [after a brief pause]   
I would not, I think ever have cared for greater matters, had not the world   
we knew ended, and I caught by the lure of lands still more strange and distant.   
And then -- there was need, and I understood it, and my skills as slayer of   
birds and deer made an obligation to protect as well as feed in time of famine,   
and it turned out that I could see better than most the best ways to do that.   
And my attentiveness, in noting this Elf's scowl or that one's smile, that had   
been no more than a private aside to friend on envy, or alliance, or hope --   
proved matter much more serious, when we were at war. And your son led us   
through all of it, the Ice, and the Dark, and the bitter days when we nearly   
slew each other in the Old World, before the Deed of Fingon, and trusted me   
with the defense of his kingdom, for many a Great Year -- nor blamed me, when   
I failed in the end. 

[silence] 

**Finarfin**:   
I have wept for thee, as for all my rungate House, in anger and in soreness   
of heart and in bitter shame that might not save ye from that madness. And   
now -- but only now -- have I wept for thee. But though it be but little of   
while, think it no less true than those most selfish tears. I shall yet fear   
for thee, though thou dost urge other. 

**Captain**:   
My lord, please don't. I'm sure you have troubles enough with your family   
and Tirion and all. There are possibilities, prospects, that may come to   
pass. And if not -- there are worse things than to be known as "the lunatic   
who set out to map the entire continent on foot," after all. 

**Finarfin**:   
And if it cometh to worse pass than that? 

[silence] 

Thou dost not speak thy thought, then. 

**Captain**:   
I do not need to -- and I would rather not distress you further. --But   
it's true. 

[Finarfin discreetly rubs at the corner of his eye. Glancing over towards   
the waterfall:] 

Sir, will you kindly excuse me? My friends are growing concerned, and the   
Beoring most of all. 

[the Noldor King nods without speaking -- as he turns to go:] 

Er -- should I pack a lunch, my lord? 

**Finarfin**:   
Thy pardon? 

**Captain**:   
When I come to see my family. You said you didn't want me scrounging off the   
House, and so I thought maybe I should arrange to bring my own meals along. 

[he looks perfectly serious -- Finarfin is not fooled by this apparent innocence] 

**Finarfin**:   
Nay, I had forgotten how much we shall have missed thy freakish jests as   
well. An thou didst come and partake of none but thine own provender, and   
such insult to the House revealed as mine own insult unto thee, I had   
ne'er heard end of it from thy mother nor my son's mother. --But-- 

[forestalling with a raised hand] 

--an thou wouldst bring, as guest-gift, such kill as thou wouldst, brace of   
partridge or other thou hast taken, nor should we take amiss, nor seek to   
find insult where none be meant. My son hath given thee discretion in great   
matters -- I will not doubt you in such lesser ones. Go, join thy friends,   
I'll not trouble thee, nor they need send rescue -- not that I deem thou   
truly needest such, that hast held command over many, and come back from   
the War far changed from the youth that left us, though no more, verily,   
than Enedrion, that hath learned to serve without argument nor haughty look,   
though stranger yet that he should cast himself willingly against me for   
thy sake, that formerly had never a care for any whose art was not noble   
nor enduring. 

[at the Captain's surprised glance -- faint smile] 

--Nay, didst thou think I perceivéd not? Peace -- go to thy companions. 

**Captain**:   
Will you stay here, alone, my lord? 

[he looks meaningfully over to the falls] 

**Finarfin**:   
I should not be so welcome as thou dost deem, I misdoubt. 

**Captain**:   
If I say so, you will be, sir. 

**Finarfin**:   
Belike -- belike after. For the nonce -- I would have peace. 

**Captain**: [bowing]   
We'll try to be quieter, then. Afraid I can't promise anything, though.   
Especially if Huan gets going again. 

[Finarfin waves him off, struggling to restrain an inappropriate smile] 

* * *

**SCENE IV.v**

  
  
  
[Elsewhere: the council chamber] 

[things have settled back into the everyone-talks-at-once, usually with energetic   
gestures, and nobody listens, mode. Somehow Aule's Apprentice has inserted himself   
into the discussion, by means of an empty chair and assuming that he must have   
something to contribute, most likely. Overlapping:] 

**Irmo**:   
Even if nothing had transpired to interfere, you wouldn't have had more than   
a half-yen at the most-- 

**Vaire**:   
I think that you're simply wrong, dear, in your opinion that his commitment   
is equal to yours-- 

**Luthien**: [interrupting, to Irmo]   
--But if you consider how many years many couples spend not seeing each   
other, then fifty or sixty years all together can come out the same almost-- 

**Nerdanel**: [aside]   
Thy words cut deeper than any chisel-- 

**Namo**: [quietly to his wife]   
Excuse me, I need to check on things. 

**Vaire**: [nodding -- to Luthien:]   
But he did leave you repeatedly-- 

**Luthien**:   
Not because he wanted to. 

**Assistant**: [with a slight emphasis on her title, not enough to come across as rude]   
Your Highness -- no one forced him to part from you, by means of capture   
or other duress. I'm afraid that the fact of Lady Vaire's assertion is not   
open to denial 

**Nerdanel**:   
Yet, sir, nor mayest thou deny, that to go from another for fear of that   
one's further safekeeping, is far other than to go from one for love of   
another, or others, or for seeking after property, or vengeance, or to   
make such departure, and compel choice of same upon another, in manner   
of test, that one does truly love -- all these be most greatly differing   
from the former? 

**Aule**:   
And yet this Man too did in fact leave her for the same piece of property,   
and revenge-- 

**Ambassador**: [reluctant both to contradict a Power, and to defend Beren]   
But, my Lord, there might indeed be said to be compulsion, in the choice   
my King set upon him-- 

[the Apprentice comes in, answering Namo's summons, and looking extremely harried   
as he goes over to the Lord of the Hall's bench] 

**Namo**: [peremptory]   
All right, what's going on now? 

**Apprentice**:   
Erm . . . 

[he looks rather panic-stricken] 

**Namo**: [exasperated]   
The rogue? Remember? That's one of the four things you're supposed to be   
doing -- waiting for security to check in, taking complaints, forestalling   
trouble and running errands as needed. How come you're so distracted all   
the time? 

**Apprentice**:   
It -- isn't all the time, my Lord: by my calculations it's only fifty-seven   
percent of the time-- 

[at Namo's Look] 

Sorry, Sir. 

**Namo**:   
So? 

**Apprentice**:   
Yes? --Ah, no -- I mean, nothing is going on, the rogue hasn't been seen again   
yet, and I did put a stop to the rioting in the halls. That is to say-- 

[he fumbles around, the Lord of the Halls covers his eyes, and the Weaver is   
sympathetic in turn:] 

**Vaire**:   
Don't worry, dear, we understand. Just do the best that you can -- I don't   
expect the impossible of you. 

**Aule's Assistant**: [undertone]   
And a good thing too! 

[the Apprentice looks even more abashed and defensive] 

**Vaire**:   
Who was it this time? 

**Apprentice**:   
Fingolfin's daughter and her recusant husband. At least to start with-- 

**Vaire**: [shaking her head]   
Whatever possessed that boy to introduce such an appalling pastime? And of   
all the people to think of it! And he isn't even embarrassed about it. 

**Namo**: [lacing her fingers in his own consolingly]   
You must admit, though, they get it over with a lot faster now that he   
devised swords. At least we don't get the shouting matches that go on   
until they run out of insults. I think the shortest one went on for a   
fortnight nonstop. 

**Vaire**:   
--Yes. 

[they share one of those rueful smiles typical of those who share a longtime   
work/life experience, like ships' crew, or parents. To the Apprentice:] 

Just -- what's that expression you like to use? -- "keep bringing out the   
fires," or however it goes. 

**Apprentice**:   
"Putting out," -- it comes from summertimes in droughty regions, or an   
alternate possibility is that it derives from the buildup of internal heat   
in mulch heaps, but in either case it comes from agrarian societies lacking   
the ability to reliably control the weather, or so Finrod informs me. Ah --   
sorry, my Lady, I don't expect you're interested in that. 

**Namo**: [apparently completely serious -- surely not with any wicked amusement?]   
Look at it this way -- you may be obliged to spend time with the involuntarily   
discorporate, but at least you're picking up cultural contexts for your trivia   
that you couldn't easily get out of the Archives. 

**Apprentice**:   
Erm . . . yes, Sir. 

**Luthien**: [offended]   
What's wrong with being dead? 

[he gives her a nervous look and laugh] 

I'm serious! Why does he say it like you think it's punishment? 

**Apprentice**:   
Ah -- please -- 

[he looks over at the Lord of the Halls, who just raises his eyebrows back at   
him -- no help there.] 

I -- please don't get angry, Princess Luthien, it's -- just -- not normal,   
for people to be going about without any bodies on. 

**Luthien**:   
Mom always said there were lots of spirits in Valinor who weren't solid and   
lived in the air. 

[her compatriot the Ambassador nods agreement; Irmo covers a slight smile, and   
the Earthlord's aide is far too bland in his expression to be innocent of   
amusement at his counterpart's discomfiture.] 

Manir and Suruli, she called them. Oh, and some who live in the water, and   
simply are water, or more like waves in the water. No bodies either -- do   
you act different around them? 

**Apprentice**: [desperately]   
Yes, but they never had them -- they didn't have them to start with and then   
lose them. 

**Luthien**:   
What difference does it make? 

**Apprentice**:   
It's -- it's just creepy. It's not the way things are supposed to be! 

[Luthien gives him a narrow Look] 

**Luthien**:   
You seem almost scared. Why? Does it make you think it might happen to you?   
Or have you been listening to too many spooky stories about people getting   
killed after seeing a ghost or being led into some danger or being possessed?   
I bet I can tell you plenty more you've never even heard of, about headless   
warriors and haunted bridges and the ghosts of bulls on the roof, and I bet   
I can even make up some more just as good as those, too! 

**Apprentice**: [austerely]   
From my studies in the Archives I know that not all of those are fiction,   
your Highness. 

**Luthien**:   
Yes, but more of them are than aren't. Maybe you don't sit up late making up   
stories in Valinor, but trying to come up with an even better story than the   
next person is something we all do -- mortals and Elves -- in Beleriand. I   
can see you know I'm right. 

[curious] 

Are you really that afraid of us? Even you Valinoreans? 

[she turns to look right at Nerdanel, catching her in a slight flinch] 

It seems strange that you'd be haunted without even being haunted, after   
a manner of speaking! 

**Nerdanel**: [with a wry smile]   
Nay -- for in the reality beneath the Moon and Sun, few needs must think   
upon such matters, when they are not forced upon our recollection. --Or so   
it is for many, I do believe. 

**Luthien**: [looking back at Nienna's Apprentice]   
Why? Have any of us "discorporates" actually done anything to harm you here? 

[the Apprentice looks guilty] 

Have I done anything to you except "yell at" you? -- which is only what I'd   
do if I were here in the flesh as well. 

**Apprentice**:   
Well -- no, your Highness. 

**Luthien**:   
So what's the problem, hm? Why are you so troubled by us? You're not really   
scared, are you? You seem more disgusted and curious at the same time. 

**Apprentice**: [pleading]   
My Lord-- 

[the Lord of the Halls shakes his head] 

**Namo**:   
When you arranged with my sister to take you on, you already knew she spends   
much of her time here. Did you think she was going to leave you home to sweep   
out her Halls or something to teach you patience? This is another learning   
experience. Now either answer Luthien's question, or don't. 

**Apprentice**: [sighing]   
Yes, Sir. 

[back and forth between Luthien and Vaire] 

--Partly. It's also the constant complaining that I have to listen to -- not   
from you, your Highness -- about how there aren't any bright colors or lights   
or proper sensations -- though part of that's the decor, begging your pardon,   
ma'am -- and how dull and boring it is with nothing to do except remember and   
talk -- at least until your cousin arrived -- though I do agree -- well, think   
that they have a point, at least -- with the Sindar who say it would be much   
improved by some potted plants, at least-- 

**Vaire**: [nettled]   
If you want plants, you can figure out a way to make them grow in here. 

[pointedly] 

--If you haven't enough to keep you busy, that is. 

**Apprentice**: [getting distracted]   
What if we took species that already thrive underground and, oh, sort of   
changed them to make them look like ones from Outside? I'll bet that-- 

**Vaire**: [half-rising]   
No! It's hard enough ensuring that fungus doesn't grow in here, given the   
atmospheric conditions, I won't have you encouraging it on purpose! 

**Apprentice**: [meekly]   
Yes, my Lady. 

**Aule's Assistant**: [thoughtful]   
What about artificial plants? It seems to me, -- subject of course to your   
approval, noble ones -- that one might be able to fabricate versions of   
imperishable materials that would be equal to, or even superior, to the   
originals in appearance. 

[Nienna's student raises his hands] 

**Apprentice**:   
I don't know that anyone would be pleased by that. It's the absence of   
growing things, you see. I try to explain that, well, these are the Halls   
of the Dead, you know. 

**Assistant**:   
--Primitives. 

[the Doriathrin lord gives him an affronted look -- his Princess is less   
inhibited by reverence] 

**Luthien**:   
We are not! We had exactly the same problem in Menegroth, and we solved it   
in several ways. One's to bring in live plants in vessels, and just keep them   
in for a little while, and then put them out in the sun again after. Cut   
greenery also works nicely to embellish a hall seasonally. 

**Vaire**:   
But then they dry out, and bits drop off them onto the floor, and have to   
be cleaned up. 

**Luthien**: [shrugging]   
So? Anyway, that's just one thing you can do. What we mostly did, was to make   
sculptures like he-- 

[nods towards Aule's aide] 

--was talking about. My mother designed a lot of it, and the Dwarven   
architects built in spaces for the trees and things to go, and some of it   
was carved out of stone, and then painted, and some of it was enameled   
metal attached on, and some of it's glass with colors and wire inside to   
make the leaf-veining. There's all sorts of things one can do. 

**Nerdanel**: [sniffing]   
Myself, I have always favoured the use of stones most aptly colored in   
themselves, the which possess inherently the fitting sheen, as though nature   
indeed had intended for the purpose of the work. 

**Aule**:   
But it's very slow, 'Danel. If you can make exactly the hue you need, why   
not do it? Why waste time hunting about for it? 

**Assistant**:   
My thoughts exactly, Sir. 

**Nerdanel**: [obstinate -- an old argument, obviously]   
Yet must I aver, my Lord, that never doth the made piece hold full richness,   
nor true depth nor variety, that stone which hath grown by longsome layering   
and the free changes of the water, and fire, and weight upon it, shall   
inevitably compass. 

**Aule**:   
But it's exactly the same process! Only faster, in the workshop. I really   
do believe that you only think you can tell the difference because you know   
that one's synthetic. 

**Luthien**:   
Well, and of course, they're never exactly the same as real leaves. But they're   
pretty, and it's fun, in a way, to have something made out of something that it   
isn't, especially if it's very different. It wouldn't be half as interesting if   
they were made of wood, even if you could make ones that looked so much like   
them out of wood, which you can't, because it isn't translucent. 

**Nerdanel**:   
Nor is there translucency in paint! 

**Luthien**: [shaking her head]   
You can make it like enamel, in thin layers, and mix mica in with it. Daeron came   
up with that, to make letters show up on a dark background. 

**Ambassador**: [sadly reminiscent]   
--He was so frustrated that people only ever used the ideas for monograms on   
doors and such. 

**Luthien**:   
Or paint over metal leaf and have the shininess show through that way. We put   
stars on ceilings with that. 

[looking up] 

I bet you could do that in here. And not as much work as any of the rest of it. 

[Vaire and the others look up as well, frowning thoughtfully; --maybe, maybe--] 

**Assistant**:   
Though it would appear terribly derivative, I fear, as though you were trying   
to copy Varda's designs for Taniquetil. 

**Irmo**:   
But the stars are her designs, so any stars are going to be based on her   
work. You might as well say that she was being repetitive herself and   
criticize the inside of the mansion, at that. --I think it would be very   
attractive, Vaire. 

**Orome**: [half-smiling]   
Remind me: how did this turn into a discussion of naturalistic decorating styles? 

**Namo**:   
Very good question. 

[he gives the Apprentice a raised eyebrow] 

**Apprentice**:   
I think I should be getting back to keep an eye on the stone in case anyone   
tries to report in. 

[he makes an unceremonious exit/retreat] 

**Irmo**: [to his brother]   
Do you really think Nia has any hope of succeeding there? 

**Namo**: [remanifesting his mug]   
If not, she's going to be taking me on next. 

* * *

**SCENE IV.vi**

  
  
  
[The Hall] 

[A new individual arrives on scene -- but after a brief alert everyone relaxes   
and the outer sentinels do not change position to block the newcomer. She is   
another shade, but somewhat different in appearance from any other Elves we have   
seen so far -- for one thing, she's a good bit shorter (though still taller than   
Beren) as well as barefoot. There should be a somewhat windblown, beachcomber   
look to her outfit, and her jewelry is all of strands of small pearls. Her speech   
is not as archaic as the other Valinorean Eldar, but should have somewhat of a   
precise intonation -- slightly "old-fashioned" in tone. Julia Ormond might be   
good in this part.] 

**Teler Maid**:   
So you're the ones who have been running and shouting in the halls. I might   
have known it. 

**Captain**: [dignified]   
We were not "running and shouting in the halls." We were conducting an   
experiment. Wh-- 

[they tend to cut over each other's sentences like relatives or very old   
acquaintances often do, without noticing or taking offense.] 

**Teler Maid**:   
You could have fooled me. Is-- 

**Captain**:   
--So what are you doing here, Curlew? 

**Teler Maid**: [rolling her eyes]   
It is not "Curlew." 

**Captain**:   
--Sanderling? --Murrelet? --Lapwing? It's got to be some sort of shorebird,   
you're standing on one leg again. 

[she adjusts her posture] 

**Teler Maid**: [mock exasperation]   
It is Maiwe, and well you know it. 

**Captain**: [shrugs]   
Curlew, Sea-Mew -- you can't expect me to keep them straight. Next thing   
you'll be saying "jib" and "clinker" like those are real words that mean   
things. 

**Teler Maid**:   
I was going to rail at you, you know. 

**Captain**:   
Rail -- isn't that some kind of waterbird? --Any particular reason? I mean,   
you could do it now, if you wanted. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Are you just going to keep on being silly? 

**Captain**:   
Well -- until you get really annoyed. Or perhaps a little bit before that.   
So why are you here? --Does it have anything to do with why you wanted to   
yell at me? 

**Teler Maid**:   
Not you personally. All who were disturbing of the peace. 

[frowning] 

If you're here, does that mean that he is back, as well? 

**Captain**:   
You didn't hear? 

**Teler Maid**:   
Hear what? 

**Captain**:   
Er . . . 

[she looks up, much as Finrod did just before Finarfin's entrance, and simply   
disappears, not as the Powers, but gradually blending into the background] 

**Beren**:   
--Wow. --Who was that? 

**Captain**:   
Ah-- 

[he looks extremely perturbed] 

Maiwe--? Are you all right? 

[she does not reappear] 

She -- used to be a colleague of mine. I -- don't-- 

[Beren looks at the Sindarin Ranger, who only shrugs helplessly] 

--Ah. I wonder-- I'll bet that's-- 

[the Captain grimaces, shaking his head and calls to the empty air:] 

--Maiwe, if it's the Lord Seneschal again, don't worry -- he can't hurt you   
if you don't allow him, and he'll probably be so embarrassed he'll ignore   
you anyway. And if he isn't we'll send him packing. 

**Beren**:   
What-- 

[at that moment the Steward reenters the Hall, looking quite pleased with himself.   
The Captain puts his forehead down on his knee, grimacing.] 

**First Guard**:   
Hullo, Sir. We didn't expect to see you back any time soon. 

**Warrior**:   
We thought you were playing chess with the King's uncle. 

**Steward**:   
I was. I won. 

**Second Guard**:   
How, Sir? 

**Steward**: [a trifle smugly]   
That is for me to know, and the High King to endeavour to find out. 

[on the further side of one of the columns, the Sea-elf girl reappears and   
leans back against it, her arms folded tightly about herself, visibly in the   
throes of indecision] 

**Captain**:   
Edrahil . . . 

**Steward**:   
What? --Do not, I insist, involve me in another such scheme which requires   
me not to come to your assistance while you get cut to ribbons. I have better   
things to do, believe me on that-- 

[the newest visitor makes up her mind and leaves the shelter of the pillar,   
coming out to confront him in silence] 

**Captain**: [unnecessarily]   
A mutual acquaintance of ours is here and has been asking after you. 

[they are staring at each other without hearing his words, she still with folded   
arms and and narrowed eyes, he in total shock and disbelief] 

**Teler Maid**: [grim satisfaction]   
I see that you are returned at last. 

[the Steward continues to stare at her, completely stunned. Beren gets up and goes   
over to him, looking worried, but not interrupting] 

**Teler Maid**: [acerbic]   
I suppose I should not be surprised that you have no greeting for me, when you   
had no farewell before. 

**Captain**: [pleading]   
Maiwe . . . 

[it takes the Steward several attempts before he can manage to say anything] 

**Steward**: [horrified]   
But how -- how long--? 

**Teler Maid**: [tossing her head]   
As to your second, for as long as you have been gone; as to your first, -- can   
you not guess, then? 

**Steward**: [in denial]   
But -- I made certain that your family were all safe, and . . . they were as   
certain as I, that you . . . were at your cousins' home in Tirion . . . 

[he breaks off, grimacing at his own words] 

**Teler Maid:** [sharply]   
I do have other friends, you know. --Or I did. 

[he flinches again] 

After that our last fight I returned home, but did not wish to hear my kin tell   
me what I already knew, that there was for us not a jot of hope of any bliss,   
and I went to a certain house of my acquaintance, where my childhood friends   
would not tell me aught whatsoever, and I might have some small amount of peace   
before going back to my work where I must see you again.. 

[with a certain bitter satisfaction:] 

And we went out on their boat, and you were not there to dispraise it, or to   
speak with displeasure of the weather, or the canting of the deck, or the   
noise of the wind, or our crude chanteys, or the food -- and we had but put   
in to port when the Lights went out, and I would have gone back to make sure   
mischance had not befallen you, but my friends persuaded me to wait, that it   
was not safe, and so we waited for word, and then-- 

[she stops, not broken up, just angry, staring at him with tight lips] 

**Steward**: [shaking his head in dismay]   
But why -- why not -- why are you here yet, and not returned to your parents?   
Why should you remain in this place for so long, when no Doom bars you from   
going Outside? 

**Teler Maid**: [ice]   
Because I did not wish to learn that you had been party to it. 

[he staggers, taking an involuntary step backwards and would fall if Beren did   
not catch him] 

**Beren**:   
What's wrong, sir? 

[the Steward only shakes his head, overcome, leaning on Beren's shoulder] 

Sir? 

**Steward**: [choked]   
If -- if you had somehow survived your encounter with the Wolf, and the King   
of Doriath had not -- would you not judge there was something far amiss between   
you, if your lady's first assumption was that -- you were in some way directly   
responsible? 

**Beren**:   
Uh -- yeah. Wait -- I know you weren't part of the Kinslaying, so -- oh. She   
thinks you were --?! 

[to the Sea-elf, urgently:] 

No, he didn't, and not only that -- he would never, ever do anything like   
that. He's one of the most upright and kind people I've ever known in my   
whole life. 

[She gives him a look of increasing curiosity] 

**Teler Maid**:   
Who are you? 

[pause] 

**Beren**:   
The reason he's dead. 

[the Steward makes an exasperated noise] 

**Teler Maid**:   
Are you a creature of the Enemy? For you do look somewhat like, at least in   
accord with the tales I have heard. 

**Beren**:   
Uh . . . 

**Captain**: [solemnly]   
I assure you, the Lord Beren is no more nor less of an Orc than I am. 

[she gives him a sharp look in turn] 

**Teler Maid**:   
You are making fun of me. 

**Captain**:   
I'm making a joke, is all. Have I ever made fun of you? 

**Teler Maid**: [sulkily]   
You were much used to tease me. 

**Captain**:   
To make you laugh. And you gave back just as good, hm? 

[she nods, quickly and unwillingly, and moves on] 

**Teler Maid**:   
Then what manner of creature are you? Surely our folk who remained have not   
become so rough and wild in the meanwhiles! 

[Beren shakes his head] 

**Beren**:   
I'm a Man. Or was -- the ghost of one, now. 

**Teler Maid**:   
You are one of the Secondborn?! 

[amazed, she reaches unthinkingly towards Beren; equally unthinkingly, the Steward   
deflects her hand before she can touch him] 

**Teler Maid**:   
Do not presume to push me about so, my lord! 

[he freezes, expressionless] 

**Beren**:   
My lady -- please -- it wasn't you, people have been trying to beat me up   
a lot and it was just a reflex. 

**Teler Maid**: [speaking to him, but looking at the Steward]   
I am no lady. I am a "humble rustic," and no more, who should be more   
comprehensible of the signal honour done me by the King's house, in   
securing for me such a fine post and an opportunity to raise myself   
beyond my simple origins in the home of his daughter. 

[the Steward hides his face against Beren's shoulder] 

**Beren**:   
Did he -- did you -- really say those things to . . .? 

[head still bowed, the Steward nods] 

**Teler Girl**:   
Does he not speak slightingly to you, then, nor is ever critical of   
your words and manners in the sight of all? 

**Beren**: [honestly]   
--Sometimes. 

[pause] 

But that isn't the whole of it by a long shot. He died rather than betray   
me, or King Finrod -- and that means way more than just words. 

[pause] 

**Teler Maid**:   
Lord Ingold is dead? He is here as well? 

[for the first time she looks more upset than angry] 

**Captain**:   
He's the one mostly responsible for the disorderly conduct that bothered   
you. It wouldn't have occurred to us to try without him. 

**Steward**:   
You . . . did not know we were here, ere now? 

**Teler Maid**: [sniffing]   
I keep to myself: I have no wish to be snubbed by Exiles here, as if this   
were Tirion. I only came to complain to Lady Nienna about the noise having   
resumed once again. 

**Captain**:   
But even if you didn't realize -- I'm sure someone would have told you it   
was us. 

[the Sea-elf looks simultaneously guilty and stubborn] 

**Teler Maid**: [defiantly]   
I never asked. 

**Captain**:   
--Oh. 

**Steward**: [with difficulty]   
Forgive me-- 

**Teler Maid**: [cutting him off]   
--Still you would tell me then, fine sir, what I should say or must think?   
I have a name -- however little you have liked it, and called me "a half-   
savage, yet" for taking it to my heart -- and if you would have me hear you,   
then needs must address me by it. 

[he stares at her, unable to keep going, and she tosses her head] 

I did not think you would. --Or that any word of mine would make you change   
your ways. 

[he shakes his head helplessly] 

What, then? No words at all for me? Not even to answer me, that I may have   
peace from wondering, if you were among those who slew us in the Darkness? 

**Steward**:   
I swear to you -- upon mine own name -- never have I raised bow or blade   
against any of our people, in life or in death, saving in gaming or in defence. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Defence! Was that not what it was called, when Fingon and the companions   
of Fingon came to kill us too? 

[he does not say anything more] 

Why could you not even come to speak to me, not even to bid me farewell   
before your going? 

**Steward**:   
I -- we did not think it would be so long. --Home before the last Leaf fell,   
some of us said at the outset, and thought it possible. 

**Teler Maid**:   
And still you did not think to seek me out, and ask me whether I would or no? 

**Steward**: [as though unable not to answer her]   
As we had fought, and you were angry enough to depart the House that we might   
not meet even though it be a high Feast, and your Lady deeming you so   
aggrieved that she did chide me for it though I a guest at table, and the   
chill of your temper like the mist off the surf -- I judged it should be "no."   
--Should it have been other? 

**Teler Maid**: [tossing her head]   
Again you presume to know my mind without my speaking it. --And no farewell,   
not even in anger, that would have told you in the seeking-after and not   
finding, that I was not in Tirion that hour--? 

**Steward**: [in the same compelled manner]   
It was a madness upon us, like a fire within our hearts, scorching away all   
other thought and reason. And it seemed to me that I and all of us might   
return in blaze of glory, having done deeds worthy of the gods, and I should   
make the songs of this our victory that every lip should sing -- and then you   
would no longer dare disdain me, nor turn from me in the coldness of your anger,   
and in your eyes I should see naught but myself reflected in your admiration.   
And so in pride, and anger, and insanity -- I left without farewell. 

[silence] 

**Teler Maid**: [softly]   
You speak of fire, my lord. --Do you know how I was thieved of my body,   
while you listened to the words of the Spirit of Fire and dreamed your   
bright dreams of battles and great journeys? To make the defenders leave   
off the fight, or else choose betwixt protecting ships and breathing   
children, his people fired the homes along the waterfront, and set all   
quayside alight, and the rafters burned, and the wooden galleries that   
crossed the streets between the upper stories, and I was trapped when I   
would flee, under the wood and the fallen tiles -- 

[he shakes his head but she does not stop] 

--and none could hear my screams above the roaring of the flames. What was I   
to know, but that you were amongst the ones of those warriors, that numbered   
so many of them as your friends? --And ever did speak, even as those friends,   
speak slightingly of our poor Wanderers', Thirdlings', Latecomers' ways? 

[he opens his mouth and tries to say something, but it is not audible -- perhaps   
her name] 

And what of you, fine sir, Edrahil Enedir's son of House Mahtan? Did you find   
glory, beyond the waves, did you find what you dreamt of that I could never   
give you, enough honour and power and admiration to quench your limitless thirst,   
and deeds enough to busy your restive heart, that would not rest beside mine,   
and yet would not set me free -- was there wealth and renown enough to please   
you in those lands? And at the end did you meet your Doom in manner fit for   
the songs of your leader's boast, that all have heard, living and dead? What   
mighty deed for our people's remembering cost you your life? Surely it was no   
panicked, headlong flight into a trap, like a fish into the nets -- not you! 

**Steward**: [shaking his head]   
You -- you don't want to -- to know about such things-- 

[she stamps her foot impatiently] 

**Teler Maid**:   
O most wise and clever and eloquent of Elves, when we two were on the green   
earth together, it was you who would speak, whether I wished to hear or to   
speak myself, and who would be silent when I prayed you speak to me, and not   
to turn your face aside, or speak to another as if I were not there, for your   
ill-temper and your pride. And now you will answer me, will you or nill you,   
and you will not tell me what it is that I do not wish to hear. 

[he answers as before, unwillingly but under compulsion] 

**Steward**:   
No songs will be made of our end -- I died unknown, a thrall, enchained,   
blind, my voice long worn away in weeping, food for a hellspawn beast, and   
none of my days' work across the years before meant anything by comparison,   
nor shall I be remembered for accomplishment in the places where I served,   
nor any there mark or miss my leaving. 

**Beren**: [earnest]   
Sir -- that -- that can't be true. They'll find out how much they needed   
you, if they haven't already. 

**Teler Maid**: [chill]   
And -- in all those days and years -- was there ever an hour in which you   
thought of another left behind, or missed me? 

**Steward**:   
There were few that I did not. When I could no longer call your face to mind   
or make your voice sound in my thoughts I remembered the Sea, and dreamed of   
the gulls' cry until my turn came to perish. 

**Teler Maid**:   
But you have always feared the Sea. 

[he nods. Wonderingly:] 

--I did not know that until I only now did utter it. I thought . . . that   
you considered it but a dull and formless wasteland, unlike the gracious halls   
of stone . . . and thus you would not willingly go to it. And all the time --   
it was but fear, that you hid in guise of pride. 

[he cannot answer. Suddenly loud:] 

Edrahil! What will you do to me, mad lovesick fool that I was, and am, that   
left me so long cold and grey before I was brought to this, and now are come   
back to trouble my rest and drive me mad once more with your aloofness and   
your mistral moods, that I cannot follow, being that they change quicker   
than the wind, so that not even my namesake gull could match them? 

[he clutches Beren's arm harder, too stricken to notice or care about the audience   
or the audience's distress] 

**Beren**:   
Please, don't-- 

[she turns her attention towards him again, waiting, and he sighs] 

I was going to ask you not to be angry with him any more about leaving, but   
that isn't it, is it? You two had problems way back before the Return. That   
was stupid of me. But he is different now. 

[She moves even closer to them and reaches her hand out to Beren, brushing   
aside his hair to get a better look at his ear and touching his unshaven   
cheek -- not in a rude way, but very childlike in her curiousity -- while   
staring into his eyes. (Note: all her gestures and attitudes should be very   
natural and unformal -- it is only dealing with her ex that she is tense   
and self-conscious.) The Steward checks his defensive reaction, looking   
away with an anguished expression.] 

**Teler Maid**: [amazed]   
--Aftercomer. You are so very different from they who company you. 

**Beren**: [nods]   
So are you. 

**Teler Maid**: [suspicious]   
Howso mean you? 

**Beren**: [smiling]   
You don't tower over me. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Are all your folk so short, then? 

**Beren**:   
Nah, I'm about in the middle. I was kind of tall for my tribe, 'cause my   
mother's folk are tall, as tall as Noldor most of them, but the Haladin are   
a lot shorter than we are. I should explain -- the People of Haleth are   
another tribe of Men who live in a different part of Beleriand. So did Hador   
-- that's Ma's side -- but they lived in another different part, up by the   
High King's holdings. 

[she frowns at him doubtfully] 

I probably shouldn't have brought that up, because of the Kinslaying. 

[the Sea-elf continues to give him a dubious Look] 

Only maybe you don't know about how Fingon is the High King now -- only that's   
just the High King in Middle-earth, not here, of course. Or does everybody   
here know about King Fingolfin? Not that this is really relevant . . . 

[he trails off] 

**Teler Maid**:   
I am not following your words well -- but I think that it all comes to your   
first "no." 

**Beren**: [wry]   
Everyone here will tell you that I do a real good job of confusing people   
with my explanations, not just Lord Edrahil here. 

**Teler Maid**: [challengingly]   
You know that he was one of those most resenting of the notion that your people   
should have our place, and those lands of Middle-earth that had been ours, and   
should have been yet, had we not ever crossed over the Sea? 

**Beren**:   
Yeah. He told me all about how Morgoth used to play on each person's vanity   
and goals like a harp, even the ones that he never said out loud, and how   
nobody realized it until it was all over. 

**Teler Maid**: [short laugh]   
If he had but listened half so well to me! 

[None of them can say anything to this -- she turns away distractedly and begins   
to wander off, oblivious of the curious and concerned looks of former acquaintances.] 

**Steward**: [whispering]   
Maiwe . . . 

[she turns back and looks at him, waiting.] 

Did you truly think -- that I had taken part -- in those murders? 

[pause] 

**Teler Maid**:   
Sometimes. --When I was most particularly angry, or surpassingly sad. --Which   
was the most of the time. --I want to see Lord Ingold. 

**Captain**:   
He's off on a mission at the moment. 

**Teler Maid**:   
What quaint manner of jargon is that? 

**Captain**:   
Sorry. He's gone upon an errand and he didn't say whither. 

**Teler Maid**: [uncertainly]   
Is Lady Nienna here? I think -- that I need to talk to her. 

**Captain**:   
I haven't seen her about. But she might well be. --Do you want me to go with   
you and help you look for her? 

**Teler Maid**: [shaking her head]   
No. I need to think -- without being talked at. 

[she vanishes abruptly -- the Captain sighs.] 

**Steward**: [sharply]   
Say what you would. 

**Captain**:   
All right. 

[he does not say anything further] 

**Steward**: [tiredly -- to Beren]   
As well yourself. 

[Beren shakes his head] 

**Beren**:   
You didn't owe me that. It wasn't any of my business before. 

[the other stops leaning on him and moves a few paces away, still looking dazed   
and lost -- Beren follows, staying at his elbow] 

**Steward**:   
It is not necessary that you hover so. 

**Beren**:   
I don't want you to fade, sir. 

**Steward**:   
Unlike yourself, there is no place else for me to go. 

**Beren**:   
Couldn't you go all sort of not there like she did, or like the K-- like   
you said Finrod did about me? 

**Steward**:   
I have too many responsibilities for such self-indulgence. 

[quickly] 

I do not mean to accuse our lord of such -- only that there are those whose   
behavior is disproportionate to their suffering. --Nor would I imply that   
your near-fading was of the same. 

**Beren**:   
I know, sir. 

**Steward**: [less remotely]   
Thank you for your kindness, and your support. I know well that I am . . . 

**Beren**:   
--pernickety? 

**Steward**:   
--I would have said, "exacting"-- 

**Beren**:   
Exactly-- 

**Steward**: [brief involuntary smile]   
--and waspish of humour, and despite what you have often alleged, it is not   
"all an act" -- I truly am of a chill and critical nature, against which I   
must ever contend-- 

**Beren**:   
Well, you keep winning. 

**Steward**:   
You're most kind. 

[straightening his shoulders] 

I am all right. I shall manage. 

**Beren**:   
You're still shaking, sir. 

**Steward**:   
I am still undone. 

[Huan gets up and comes over, somewhat uncertainly, to lean his head over the   
Steward's shoulder -- the latter does not shrug him off, but rather pats his nose   
a little absently as if it were the Hound who was in need of comfort] 

**Captain**: [hesitant]   
You should also know -- Lady Nerdanel is here. She arrived after you left,   
in conjunction with him-- 

[he nods towards where Finarfin is lost in meditation; his colleague glances over,   
then looks at him bleakly] 

I thought you might not have noticed yet, either. It seems only the broadest   
outlines of our disaster reached them before. However it goes, it's probably   
going to be not unlike the Princes towards their brother, only worse. 

[the Steward continues to regard him in silence.] 

I thought you'd rather be surprised now than surprised later. 

**Steward**:   
The notion of retreating for the rest of the yen has ever-increasing appeal. 

**Beren**: [gloomy]   
My problems hardly seem much compared to yours. I mean, even our fights -- we   
only had a couple months of arguing and it was all about the same thing. Not   
centuries. And how complicated can it get? Who here doesn't have family mad at   
them here? 

**Youngest Ranger:** [quiet]   
--Er . . . me. --As far as I know. 

**Beren:**   
I swear, this is worse than any of the grazing-drainage disagreements in Drun!   
I mean, you all knew each other, or worked for each other, or were related to   
each other, and then you fought, and went away, and now you're back and people   
aren't speaking to you, or each other because of you, and these are all the   
same people. 

**Soldier**: [aside to the Warrior]   
That's got to be the shortest version of the Noldolante ever. 

**Beren**: [getting more upset]   
What are you going to do? Even if you wait a hundred and whatever years, is   
it going to fix things? If she's-- 

[glancing at the doorway] 

--still furious with him -- 

[to the Steward] 

--and your girlfriend's still angry at you -- and all your parents! -- after   
what, four hundred sixty years? That's not going to make a difference. What's   
going to happen to you out there? 

**Steward**: [anxious]   
This, at least, is one trouble for which you cannot blame yourself. 

**Captain**:   
Don't underestimate Beren. Dangerous thing, that. 

**Second Guard**:   
I'm sure that if we give him a little bit of time, he'll manage to figure out   
some way he's responsible for Alqualonde. 

**Captain**:   
Why stop at the Kinslaying? Why not everything in the world? I'm sure that with   
some thought, every possible misfortune in Arda could be laid at Beren's door. 

**Beren**:   
--Guys-- 

**Steward**:   
An interesting problem, to be sure. --Are we limiting ourselves to material   
causality, or are we admitting metaphysical causality as well? For if the   
latter, I think it should hardly be any challenge at all. 

**Beren**: [raising his hand in protest]   
Oh, come on-- 

[The Steward gives him a very small, very knowing smile -- distractions.] 

**Captain**:   
Start making the list, Edrahil--   


* * *

**SCENE IV.vii**

  
  
  
[Elsewhere: the council chamber] 

[It's very loud and the discussion quite animated.] 

**Aule**:   
But if you made all the gears out of crystal, then the water wouldn't   
corrode them-- 

**Ambassador**:   
Would they not be so heavy then that they'd sink, my Lord? 

**Aule's Assistant**:   
No, they'd be on rods lifted off the bottom, at varying heights -- quite   
possibly adjustable, sliding along a series of paths not unlike a clock's   
elements-- 

**Nerdanel**:   
'Tis a great challenge to capture the depth of iridescence natural to plume   
or scale in enamels, for the layers seek to obscure and oft groweth milky   
like to ice-- 

[Looking more than usually sardonic, the Doomsman of Arda snaps his fingers and   
a flash, similar to that of a white phosphorus flare, illuminates the room, though   
without the "bang" that usually accompanies such intensely-bright fireworks. Instant   
silence, followed by looks either abashed or irritated from the participants as the   
glare fades back into the basin and the lighting returns to normal.] 

**Namo**: [flatly]   
Well. Now that we've talked about the technical requirements of preparing   
limestone to receive paint, the best way to create the effect of sunlight   
indoors, the problems of dust in relation to various artistic and domestic   
processes, and determined that neither my wife nor I have any desire to have   
fake trees or replicas of small woodland animals affixed thereto -- not even   
realistic ones fetchingly rendered in lifelike tones of striated agates with   
polished jet eyes, Nerdanel, Tavros -- cluttering up our house, though the   
decision is still pending on small, restrained, and I do emphasize restrained,   
sculptures of plants in hanging baskets, we'll have to think about that --   
could we, possibly, return to our original discussion? Or am I being totally   
unreasonable in asking that? 

[pause] 

And no artificial goldfish either, unless Vaire wants them. 

**Irmo**:   
I really don't like it when you're sarcastic, brother. 

**Namo**:   
That isn't on topic either. 

**Vaire**: [trying not to smile]   
--Darling-- 

**Luthien**:   
Why? We're only all going to say the same things all over again to each other. 

[pause] 

**Namo**:   
Very likely, yes. --Particularly if you're going to take that attitude from   
the start. 

**Luthien**:   
You're not being fair -- it's not just me who's being obstinate, so please   
don't make it sound that way. 

[he raises an eyebrow to her; Irmo struggles not to smile. (Orome doesn't even   
bother trying.)] 

**Nerdanel**:   
I confess I do not find the matter so simple as 'twas first present-- 

**Vaire**: [aside]   
I suppose it would be impolite -- not to mention giving the wrong message   
entirely -- if I were to fetch some knitting?   


* * *

**SCENE IV.viii**

  
  
  
[The Hall.] 

[Finarfin is sitting with his head bowed on his arms, when shouting from over by the waterfall makes him look up] 

**Ranger**: [very loudly]   
But what about Ungoliant? Eh? What about Ungoliant? 

[Finarfin is compelled to leave the hill and come investigate] 

**Soldier**:   
Well? What about her? 

**Ranger**:   
You can't just keep saying, "Because of the Silmarils," for everything. You have   
to say something like, oh . . . "Because if Ungoliant hadn't crossed through   
Beleriand leaving her little brood, there wouldn't have been any giant spiders   
for Beren to fight through on the way to Doriath." 

**Warrior**:   
Excellent! We can take her off the list. What about Helka and Ringil, though?   
I don't see any way we can connect Beren with them. 

[They notice that Finarfin is present and observing them, and go suddenly quiet.   
Several of the Ten rise and bow, uncertainly; the Captain nods, while the Steward   
stares ahead fixedly] 

**Finarfin**:   
--Dare I ask, knowing shall regret . . . ? 

[pause] 

**Beren**:   
They're trying to cheer me up by proving that I'm responsible for everything   
that's ever gone wrong in the universe. 

**Finarfin**:   
. . . 

[starts to speak, stops, then has to ask] 

And doth it have th'effect intent in it? 

**Beren**: [bemused, nods]   
Actually, --yeah. 

**Finarfin**:   
Oh. 

[pause] 

Such exceedingly -- strange -- friends. 

[starts to walk away, shaking his head] 

**Youngest Ranger**: [whispering]   
Who's he talking about? 

**Third Guard**:   
Beren, I think. 

**Ranger**:   
I thought he meant all of us. 

**Finarfin**: [turning back]   
--Strange, but -- admirably loyal. 

**Beren**: [smiles]   
I know. 

[in the background two of the Ten are having a whispered argument:] 

**Warrior**: [nudging his neighbor]   
Go on, ask them! 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
No! Stop it! It would be rude. 

**Warrior**:   
Well, if you won't, I will -- 

[louder] 

Psst! Beren! 

**Beren**:   
Hm? 

**Warrior**:   
What was it like, when you two intersected? 

[the Sindarin Ranger closes his eyes and looks very much as though he'd like   
to vanish] 

**Beren**:   
What? 

**Warrior**:   
You and his Majesty's father -- we saw it when you were talking. 

**Beren**:   
Oh. 

[he glances up at Finarfin] 

Not much. Like light, I guess, -- like when the sun bounces off something like   
a horse-brass or a sword, you know how you don't really feel it unless it's in   
your eyes, but you can tell sort of. 

[giving Finarfin another hesitant look] 

For me at least. 

**Finarfin**: [looking at the cavalry officer's shade]   
Of what matter is thy question? 

[the Warrior is too embarrassed now to say; Finarfin turns to Beren with an   
inquiring expression.] 

**Beren**: [shrugging]   
What it felt like, when you tried to take the Ring from me. We were wondering   
-- earlier, that is -- what would happen if someone living hit one of us. 

**Finarfin**: [lips tightening]   
I did not strike thee, boy, nor did e'en attempt such. 

**Beren**: [very polite]   
No sir. We meant colliding in general as well -- even only by accident. 

[he glances over at his friends, and then back at the Elf-King] 

Um, did it -- feel like anything to you? 

[pause] 

If you're not offended for some reason by me asking that. 

[Finarfin only looks at him, not saying anything, and he get embarrassed -- then   
looks back up with a self-amused hopefulness] 

**Finarfin**: [shaking his head]   
Less than twenty-four and six--! 

[even more mildly] 

--Like to naught but to a shadow passed suddenly 'neath on summer's day, or to   
a chill air, that moveth off the water -- and to naught else. 

[pause] 

Thou art a curious folk. 

**Beren**:   
Ah, did you mean that "curious," like we wonder about things, or "curious" as   
meaning really strange? --Your Majesty. 

**Finarfin**: [slight smile]   
Aye. 

**Beren**:   
Okay. 

[he looks away, hiding a grin] 

Next dumb question, were you talking about my people, or about us? 

[gesturing around at them all] 

**Finarfin**: [bland]   
Most assuredly. 

**Beren**:   
You know, I can see now where he gets it from. 

[the King's expression darkens] 

You sure you don't want to sit down, sir? There's plenty of room, even with   
Huan taking up half of it. 

[the Hound and he share a grin] 

**Finarfin**:   
Nay, I think not so. 

**Beren**:   
Only think? 'Cause if you're sure, that's one thing, but if you only think   
you shouldn't because you feel awkward about everything in the past, that's   
not gonna be fixed by you pretending we're not here, and if you think we have   
issues with you that we're being too polite to say anything about but you   
won't ask, it won't go away either by you not saying anything. 

[Finarfin gives him a long, level stare] 

**Finarfin**:   
Thou kennst ne'er when -- nor dost heed plain sense! -- shouldst cease, I think? 

**Beren**:   
Nope. 

[brief pause] 

I'm not just doing it because I feel sorry for you, sir, or because I don't   
want th-- Finrod, to think we weren't welcoming to you. My parents would be   
furious with me for not doing right by a relative, if I didn't even make the   
effort. 

[silence -- Finarfin stares at him, frowning] 

--We're -- kin, s--Sire. 

[longer pause] 

Really. Even if it's just by marriage and by marriage again. That's why they got   
thrown out of Doriath by your lady's uncle, so it would still be true. 

**Finarfin**:   
To what dost thou refer, boy? 

**Beren**:   
You know, sir -- when Thingol -- oh wait, you all used to call him something   
else here, not even Elu -- Elwe? -- he kicked them out of Menegroth -- only   
just on a temporary basis -- after -- wait, I'm assuming you know where   
Menegroth is, but that's not necessarily so, is it? Or maybe you would have   
heard, from gossip? --Would somebody please make me shut up and help? 

**Fourth Guard**: [obliging tone]   
All right. 

[he grabs him and claps a hand over his mouth, effectively gagging him, until   
Beren elbows him hard in the ribs and there is a brief scuffle which ends when   
Huan gets up to participate, stepping on people in the way, and they break it up.] 

**Beren**: [to Huan]   
Sit! --Sit! 

[to the royal Guard] 

--I meant take over, you loon -- Now you all are going to have to suffer through   
my version of it. 

[to Finarfin, who is staring with a completely bemused expression] 

What I heard was, and somebody'll correct me if I'm wrong, probably all at once,   
that the King and -- that is, your kids -- were visiting Tinuviel's family again,   
which they did kind of a lot, only this time it was because they were visiting   
their sister too, since she was living with them then, and somehow rumors had   
gotten around about the Kinslaying in Doriath and Thingol called them on it and   
it was a big mess and there was a lot of yelling and not as much listening, at   
least at first, and then even after it got straightened out on how you all   
weren't involved, her dad was still really furious with them for first off not   
stopping it, and then for being okay with House Feanor afterwards, and then for   
keeping it a secret from them. 

[thoughtful] 

--Though Tinuviel said her mom had figured out a lot of it on her own, or at   
least that it was something big they weren't talking about. --Because they   
were -- are -- related to Thingol since he's their granddad's brother. So he   
threw them all out for a while, only not th-- your daughter. And he let them   
come back later. And if you want better information than that, you need to   
ask someone who was actually there and remembers it-- 

[looking around very pointedly at his companions] 

--like certain people here who are letting me flounder around telling it, or   
else ask my wife. --So if Tinuviel is your kids' cousin because she's related   
to your wife, that's a direct blood relationship, but she's related to you,   
right, by marriage, because your in-laws are kin, too, at least the way we   
consider it back home, and I think it's the same for you, right? At least,   
I always assumed it was. 

[he looks over at the Steward, who nods] 

So I'm related to your kids now, by marriage, but that means I'm also related   
to you. Well, obviously. 

[ducking a little under Finarfin's expressionless stare] 

--Sorry. --Your Majesty. 

[silence] 

**Finarfin**:   
We cannot, so the adage goeth, of our kindred by our own choosing make selection. 

[Beren looks down, accepting the cut] 

Being ignorant of thy people as of thee, 'twould ne'er hath occurred, to choose   
so -- yet of all whom I perforce must name my kin, thou art by no means worst   
in my esteeming, nor last whom I had chosen, had choice been given me-- Peace;   
I'd walk a little while, and think upon all that I have heard this day, and   
likewise seen, and perchance then 'twill suit me to take place with ye, and   
hear this curious manner of speech, and more curious tales, brought back from   
afar. 

[He turns towards the door again, and is halted by a discreet cough as the Captain   
tries to get his attention] 

--Aye? 

**Captain**:   
Would you -- that is, should one of us accompany you, sir? 

**Finarfin**:   
What have I said, that thou shouldst think to say so? 

**Captain**:   
You aren't afraid to walk the Halls alone, my lord? 

**Finarfin**:   
Is there aught of danger to the living in these Halls? Or wild beast, or storm,   
or precipice, or folk of violent disposition, the which might work to my harm?   
Surely were it so, my Lord and Lady should have forewarned -- or say ye nay? 

[Beren starts to explain, but is discouraged (though not quite so rowdily) by the   
Guard beside him] 

**Warrior**:   
Not to the living, my lord. But -- most -- few Eldar I think would be at ease.   
Not even the Lady Amarie was comfortable here, though she hid her fear well. 

[pause] 

**Finarfin**: [with a peculiar, thoughtful expression]   
Amarie, thou sayest, is eke come hither? By request? Or hers, or his, or   
other's yet? 

**Warrior**:   
I -- we think it is the Lady Nienna's, my lord. 

[awkward pause] 

**Finarfin**: [calmly]   
Were the Song known, none should e'er know surprise. Peace, I'll not yield to   
speculation, nor ask of thee the same. --For what, then, dost think I fear?   
Or tell the old tales of the dark far past before the Crossing of the Sea the   
truth, of unquiet dead that steal souls of a night, or lure with deadly pity?   
Would ye guard me then, that none might dispossess? 

**Captain**:   
No, sir, it can't be done here. Lord Namo wouldn't have it. 

**Finarfin**: [with a touch of pride -- he is, after all a King]   
Think ye, then, that I do fear where is no ground beneath? 

[they are somewhat abashed] 

**Beren**:   
I think the only thing you're afraid of is doing something wrong. --Sire. 

[long pause] 

**Finarfin**:   
Thou hast taken the lead. 

**Beren**:   
Sir? 

**Finarfin**:   
Again: hast thou not marked it? --Nor ye? 

[the Ten and Beren look at each other uncertainly] 

This child speaketh as were a lord among ye, nor ye to take affront, that he   
should speak for all, nor claim such precedence, even as there is no contending   
betwixt thee and thee-- 

[to the Steward and the Captain respectively] 

--that share authority as 'twere a cup at banquet without strife. Are ye come   
to Vanyar then, in death, or hath this change earlier nascence yet? 

[pause] 

**Captain**:   
Er -- Beren is a lord, milord. He hasn't got a place anymore, but -- none of   
us do either, really. 

**Finarfin**:   
He is a child -- not even old enow to wed, far less to rule over many. 

**Captain**:   
Not by their years, sir. 

**Steward**: [speaking up at last, in an out-of-duty way]   
Of thy brother's following, the mortal House of Marach has held his chief   
fortress in office over both their own folk and ours, and two lords of Men   
-- to my knowing not a third -- have died in its defense, Galdor son of Hador,   
and his father before him in the Sudden Flame, who was a most valiant warrior,   
and a skilled commander as well as faithful to his liege lord, and not uncivil   
in his mastery. 

[pause] 

--Nor is their skill but in violence, as some aver: the sons and daughters   
of the Secondborn are apt to learning, and possess even wisdom no less than   
discernment, for all their brevity, nor are their songs lacking in all beauty. 

**Finarfin**: [very dry]   
That is most high praise, from thee. 

**Captain**: [slipping from addressing Finarfin to the Steward to Beren by turns very confusingly]   
But it's more complicated, even, than that with regards to young Barahirion here, because he is -- or was, depending on how you look at it, and if you ask your eldest, and what mood you catch him in -- a liege lord to the King in his own right, and I think that the Princes are cheating there, claiming authority over him, because they predeceased Barahir, so I don't see how they can claim that Beren ever owed them allegiance himself, except when he was simply part of the hearth-guard of Beor, but certainly not as Lord of Dorthonion -- 

[turning back to Finarfin] 

--and thus no less truly a peer of the realm, though admittedly a junior one on several counts, and then proved himself worthy again and in his own right by demonstrating discretion, restraint, and being able to follow orders, which I'm sure you'll appreciate, sir -- even when said orders turned out not to be well-advised, and if you bring up the question of whose fault it is one more time I'll dunk you myself -- and now he's practically family even before we realized that he was family, so to speak. So-- 

[raising his hands] 

--if he wants to speak for the rest of us now, instead of hiding behind us   
having panic attacks and episodes of agoraphobia and unworthiness, that's   
quite all right. If we disagree -- we'll say so, believe me. 

**Finarfin**: [amused despite himself]   
'Tis like a conflagration, this manner of speech -- the spark of it hath caught   
in thee as well. 

[glancing around at them] 

The War hath changéd ye, nor for all the worst. Strange, belike, but not more   
cruel nor-- 

[he looks up at the water sculpture] 

--unvaluing of beauty nor of graciousness, for all the bluntness of thy thought.   
--As some have feared it should. 

[almost smiling] 

--Passing strange, that rebellion should return ye trained to obedience even   
as to command! --Lord Edrahil. 

[this first instance of being addressed as an adult in his own right catches the   
Steward by surprise] 

Will't please thee walk with me, and converse upon sundry matters, and perchance   
it may be to advise? 

**Steward**:   
No, my lord. --But I'll do it all the same. 

**Finarfin**:   
I did but ask, sir -- not ordered thee. 

**Steward**:   
And I but answered: it will not please me, and I will do it. I cannot answer   
other, save to refuse either word or compliance. 

[Finarfin starts to say something, then checks and nods. Shrewdly:] 

**Finarfin**:   
Thy crest hath fallen since last we held converse. 

**Steward**:   
True. 

**Finarfin**:   
For what the cause? 

[with great reluctance, clearly debating silence, the other replies:] 

**Steward**:   
I . . . have learned that she who bore the choice-name Sea-mew and was your   
lady's handmaiden, -- and that I did most poorly love -- was among the Kinslain   
these long years, that I had deemed had long forgotten me with a better. 

**Finarfin**: [surprised]   
Thou didst not ken? 

**Steward**:   
How should I, sir? 

[Finarfin looks at him, puzzled] 

These Halls are large and there are many here. Give me a little to recover   
my composure, and I shall overtake you. 

**Finarfin**:   
Shall't have no trouble then, for all its largeness? 

**Steward**:   
Most assuredly not, for two reasons -- the first that you being complete and   
undiminished even by your sorrows, do shine like a cresset on hilltop, and no   
more trouble to find than such a beacon -- the second, that does one know that   
one whom one seeks is present, it is much lighter work to find that one. 

[the King frowns] 

But do not think thus to find the King your father, sir, nor even your elder   
brothers, for none may be found saving only that he -- or she -- does choose so. 

**Finarfin**: [clearly unsettled]   
Doth the truth of these walls extend so far as to grant vision of one's inmost   
heart, that nothing be concealéd, nor unsaid, nor spoken? 

[the Steward shakes his head] 

**Steward**:   
In life, in the eastern lands, I stood upon your son's right hand in all things.   
I know you thus -- beyond the knowledge of the past Outside, when all of us were   
other, and stood in wise far different to each other -- through my understanding   
of him, and doubtless imperfect for that double remove; yet from my words, and   
your return, I guess that those two mirrors have not distorted past all truth.   
--I'll come to find you anon, my lord, I pledge: and then you may bespeak me as   
you will, and ask, and I shall endeavor to answer in such wise as you shall find   
comprehensible, nor give offense. 

[pause] 

**Finarfin**:   
I would not increase the burden of thy sorrows, still. 

**Steward**: [with a glint of his usual self]   
Nor I yours, -- who can say? Perchance we may even succeed at that, my lord. 

[with a faint smile Finarfin gives him a polite, acknowledging nod, and another   
generally to the rest of the company, and goes out through the archway] 

**Beren**: [frowning]   
He did say that he didn't mind so much having me for part of his family,   
didn't he? Not just that there were relatives he hated worse. 

**Steward**: [nods]   
The exactness of the phrasing was ambivalent: either might have been meant by   
the specific words employed. But I too believe you have the right of it. --He   
is very like our lord. 

[he gestures for the flask, and his colleague passes it over, but holds onto it   
long enough that he has to look up and meet his gaze] 

**Captain**:   
Are you going to be up to this? Is dealing with him, now, a good idea? 

**Steward**:   
It will, most like, forestall the brunt of his remorse from falling on the   
King, and equally his long-held wrath, and at a time when our lord can least   
withstand either nor spare thought to defend from it. It is my task, and my   
place. But my strength is not yet equal to my resolve. 

**Captain**:   
Is there anything I can do to help? 

**Steward**:   
--As, for example, standing by to watch a duel of words, where the aim of it is   
seemingly to lose? 

[they share a wry smile] 

It will -- disengage my mind from other troubles. 

**Captain**: [earnest]   
I don't think it's as hopeless as all that for you two. It's going to take work,   
but I feel sure she'll give you another chance. 

**Steward**:   
Yes, but you would, being an unreasonable optimist. 

**Captain**:   
Well -- I've been right so far, have I not? 

[pause] 

**Steward**:   
I can almost not believe you said that -- but I've known you too long. 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
--Ware! 

**Captain**:   
I mean, it seemed the worst luck that Lady Amarie wouldn't hear a word from   
Himself, but look what came of it -- we're still here to help Beren and the   
Princess now that they need it. And-- 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
--Sir-- 

**Captain**:   
Yes, lad, I know. 

[Aegnor returns, alone, quite composed (at least apparently) and not fazed by the   
unfriendly and wary looks directed towards him. As he comes towards their group--] 

Our liege lord has not returned yet, I'm afraid. 

[he puts a slight emphasis on "Our" not unnoticed by the Prince.] 

**Aegnor**: [superior tone]   
On the not-unlikely chance that he's taken off again and is haring about   
somewhere as usual, Angrod is looking for him throughout the levels instead.   
--Which I see was a correct assumption. I'll stay here and wait for him, then. 

**Captain**:   
I don't recommend that, Highness. 

**Aegnor**:   
Why? Have you claimed this Hall in your own right, then? Going to stake out   
a realm of your own now, are you? 

**Captain**:   
No, it's simply that I doubt you can keep a civil tongue. 

**Aegnor**: [raising an eyebrow]   
"Fly pride, quoth the peacock" --! 

[he does not say a word towards Beren, nor the rest of the Ten, but strolls a short   
distance off and settles down where Finrod had been playing, taking up the harp that   
the Steward had manifested earlier. Looking it over critically:] 

The design of this thing is so squat and ungainly, I've never understood how   
you could bear to be seen with such a clumsy piece of work, let alone claim   
the design of it for yourself! 

**Steward**: [still sounding tired]   
It stands travel better, and the breadth of the soundbox prevents it from   
toppling when there is not secure and level place for it, as is often the   
case when journeying, nor requires additional carry of a stand. 

**Aegnor**:   
At the sacrifice of tonal quality, no doubt. 

**Steward**: [shortly]   
The dimensions of the chamber are calculated to compensate for the lack   
of height. 

**Aegnor**:   
"Calculated"-- 

[he snorts and flicks at one of the strings contemptuously] 

Such an approach, I guess, is only to be expected, from one who has not a drop   
of Teler blood or intuition--! 

**Third Guard**: [polite but firm]   
Strictly speaking, your Highness, none of us have any blood, whether Teler,   
Noldor, or Vanyar -- not even yourself. 

[Aegnor does not answer, only fiddles with the tuning, a patronizing smile on his face] 

**Beren**: [loyally]   
I thought it sounded fine, Sir. I couldn't tell any difference between it and   
the Ki-- and Finrod's. 

[the Prince gives him a sharp, sidelong Look at that] 

**Aegnor**: [aside]   
Yes, well, you wouldn't, would you? 

[the Captain catches the eye of both Rangers in turn and makes a covert set of   
hand-signals. Separately, throughout the following conversation, they get up and   
go over to the mural as if critiquing it. To Beren, though addressing him obliquely,   
not looking at him:] 

Though I suppose that you cannot help that. 

[pause] 

You do not answer, Beoring? 

**Beren**:   
Not to you. 

**Aegnor**: [setting aside the harp and leaning forward as he gets down to business]   
You subscribe, then, to my eldest brother's belief that all are equal in   
death, then? Or are you merely being insolent? 

**Beren**:   
Neither. My father was killed six years after the Battle. I was only ever   
the King's vassal. --Directly, I mean. 

**Aegnor**: [shrugging]   
There is of course mere common courtesy, when another addresses one. --What   
became of the mithril hauberk and arms I gave to your great-grandfather Boromir?   
That gear was pretty nearly priceless. 

**Beren**: [tersely]   
Lost it. 

**Aegnor**: [venomously pleasant]   
You lost everything that was entrusted to your care, didn't you? 

[Beren does not respond] 

The lands themselves -- well, that's understandable, you couldn't exactly do   
anything about being outnumbered. And I can understand why your people would   
have left when you could no longer take care of them as well. Property, even   
your life -- for none of that can you justly be held accountable for, in the   
end. --Only for your honor. 

[he looks up, then, at the still-silent Beren, ignoring the dark expressions of   
the Ten] 

None of your House would have behaved as you did. Such a disgrace to the memory   
of Bregolas, of Bregor, of Balan himself -- to lose the life of the King whose   
life your own was sworn to protect: even to accept his assistance, when the   
price of it was merely disgrace and dethronement, should have been beneath you. 

**Beren**: [pushed past self-control]   
I couldn't stop him! There was nothing I could do-- 

**Aegnor**:   
What would your father say to that? Surely he never uttered those words. 

[strangely, Beren gives him a faint smile, not changing as the Prince continues:] 

Surely Barahir would say, indeed, that you should have fallen on your sword   
first, before accepting such a boon. 

[long, tense silence among the Ten, Huan whimpers -- and Beren keeps giving Aegnor   
that odd smile] 

**Beren**:   
I may be remembering this all wrong, but I thought it was explained to me that   
you and Orodreth and Angrod were pretty good friends with your cousins and used   
to spend a lot of time with them, and that's why you set up your holdings in the   
East so close to the Pass, and why he was with them at Sun-Return, and why they   
moved in with him and Finrod when the Leaguer broke. 

[with an acknowledging look towards the Steward] 

I'm sure it was more complicated than just family, but even with there not being   
all that many places to go, after the Sudden Flame, the thing I'm wondering is,   
if maybe you feel a bit guilty, since maybe you all being so tight with that crew   
had something to do with Finrod giving them such a warm welcome, if it was partly   
for your sake. --Just going on how things were in Dorthonion after it started   
getting bad, and the way people react, how it isn't all just what's the most   
reasonable thing to do. 

[silence] 

**Steward**:   
A most interesting question. --Is that the case, I wonder? 

**Aegnor**: [glowering]   
I do not choose to answer your unworthy speculations. 

[the Captain lifts his hand as if to interject, then lowers it.] 

**Steward**:   
I believe that you have quite well, your Highness. 

[In the background, the attentive Rangers swing up via the high-relief "forest"   
onto the stones forming the ascenders of the waterfall and edge over the top of it] 

**Aegnor**:   
Still defending him? 

[shaking his head, scoffing:] 

No doubt you'll say that it was not so bad, after all, since it happened in a   
noble cause, for the sake of a greater good. 

[Beren's expression goes grim -- the Soldier puts a hand on his arm, reassurance   
as much as restraint] 

**Steward**: [thoughtful]   
No, I should never say that. It was far worse than I could ever have conceived   
of, worse than the Ice, worse than the Flame, singly or together. 

[this gives Aegnor pause, but only for a moment before he comes back:] 

**Aegnor**: [furious]   
Then he, at least, should show a trifling amount of reverence -- at least -- 

[the Captain rises to his feet] 

--rather than taking for granted and without gratitude the continued generosity   
that's been shown him. 

[with enough nonchalance to convey a distinct menace, the Captain walks slowly over   
to where Aegnor is sitting, rests his foot on a boulder just short of him, and leans   
over him, smiling all the while and keeping his eyes steadily on the Prince's] 

**Captain**:   
--Enough. 

**Aegnor**:   
What, are you going to challenge me at last, then? 

[the other shakes his head, still holding his stare] 

**Captain**:   
I will not fight you, sir. 

[pause -- smiling wickedly:] 

I've no need to, you see. 

[his associates ambush the Prince from above-and-behind and drag him backwards to   
the edge, whence they toss him in with extreme enthusiasm. Aegnor's attempts to   
recover dignity and land are not aided by Huan's deciding that this looks like a   
fine idea and leaping in with him. After a couple of tries he manages to climb out   
and stands there looking intensely disgruntled, sopping, and enough humiliated on   
several levels not to try to retaliate] 

**Aegnor**: [glaring at the Steward]   
Is this the consequence you were hinting so darkly about? 

**Steward**: [serious]   
Evidently so. One consequence, at least. There could be others too, I suppose. 

[As Aegnor starts to say something else, Huan climbs out and shakes vigorously,   
splashing everyone, who react with good-natured annoyance -- but coincidentally   
standing right next to Finrod's brother. It couldn't be on purpose, after all...] 

**Aegnor**:   
Huan!? What's wrong with you, dog? 

**Beren**: [offhand]   
That's what Celegorm wondered, too. 

[Aegnor turns a furious Look on him, getting a raised eyebrow back at him] 

**Aegnor**:   
You-- 

**Ranger**: [interrupting, to the Captain]   
--Might we again, sir? 

[he gets the glare instead; his commander looks over to his senior colleague for   
confirmation] 

**Steward**: [shrugs, smiling a little]   
It doesn't matter to me either way: I'm feeling much heartened already. 

[Aegnor incautiously puts a hand on his sword-hilt -- and is shoved back in with   
the additional help of a possibly-unnecessary boot behind the ankles to prevent   
him from getting his balance, by the other Rangers. Huan follows suit again   
voluntarily.] 

**Ranger**: [to Beren, as Aegnor crawls out onto the rocks again, very bedraggled]   
You know, you're right: it is both fun, and funny. In a very curious and   
primitive sort of way, of course. 

**Beren**: [solemnly]   
Of course, you're really supposed to do it to your own relatives, not your   
liege lord's family. Or to your friends. And remember, you have to watch out   
on account of it usually escalates into retaliation. 

[looking consideringly at Aegnor] 

Only I don't think you really have to worry because first off, he's worried   
about his dignity and secondly, you've got him way outnumbered if you count   
everybody, plus Huan, which goes back to the first point. 

**Ranger**:   
You should have helped, then it would have been all right and proper. 

**Beren**: [shaking his head]   
Oh, I doubt he's gonna like the fact that I'm kin now any more than that we   
decided he wasn't actually in charge of me. Though I do think Celegorm's worse,   
all around, than me. 

[he and Aegnor lock stares, much more serious this time.] 

**Steward**: [earnestly]   
My lord, you provoke him much, and some might say needlessly. 

**Beren**: [quiet and slow, like someone reporting on distant troop movements]   
I know, but . . . we've got the truth lying here between us like a hot coal,   
and . . . he can either pick it up and deal with it, which is going to hurt,   
or try to kick it away by walking off or picking another fight. I'm betting   
. . . that he's going to leave it there and walk off again. Given the fact   
that the last couple fights weren't too satisfying . . . 

[Aegnor stands there looking at him, dripping and frustrated, not saying anything,   
for a long moment. (Note: sfx -- the drops do not land on the floor, but vanish   
continually as they fall, unless (as with Huan shaking himself off) they strike   
another spirit: the Platonic Form of Water doesn't leave puddles.) Abruptly he   
turns and walks evenly away with as much dignity as he can pull together. To his   
chagrin and annoyance the Captain accompanies him, and follows him to the door] 

**Aegnor**:   
Are you so petty in your triumphs, then, that you must make them last so long? 

**Captain**:   
No, sir, I was wondering if you'd learned anything from this, and if we should   
be prepared to do it again -- if not you, then Angrod in his turn. 

**Aegnor**:   
Fear not, I'll tell him you're mad and violent when I speak to Finrod about this. 

**Captain**:   
Good. Since the Beoring has no hard feelings towards you, I'll give you a word   
of advice, then: you may be deceived thinking you discern the King your brother,   
though perchance not; but Lord Beren at first mistook the King your father for   
Felagund instead. You might warn him about that, as well as our diversions here. 

[Aegnor gives him a stricken look] 

**Aegnor**:   
F -- my father is here? 

**Captain**:   
And in good health, though not spirits. 

[pause] 

The Powers requested him to speak with the Lady your cousin, and he accepted   
the task. But her words unsettled him too much to go on, and so he came back   
here for a while -- until we unsettled him too much in turn. 

**Aegnor**:   
What -- did he say about me? 

**Captain**:   
Nothing, Highness, nothing at all. 

**Aegnor**:   
What did you talk about, then? 

**Captain**:   
Of my treason, and its consequences, the ones past, present, and it may be   
to come. 

[pause] 

**Aegnor**:   
He said nothing about me whatsoever? 

**Captain**:   
Not to me, my lord. He might perhaps to Lord Beren -- they spoke for a brief   
while apart -- but you would have to ask him. 

[nodding towards the mortal -- Aegnor gives him a glare] 

But I don't think it very likely. I gather the substance of their conversation   
was . . . similar to yours, but with differences. 

[another, worse glare] 

Well, I just don't know, your Highness. I wasn't present, and they've not told   
me, and you've indicated extreme dislike for conjecture, so I shan't venture to   
do so. Sorry, but there you have it. 

[pause -- the Prince does not leave, and the Captain relents.] 

I think your father is far too troubled at the moment by discovering the same   
facts concerning our mutual lord's death that so much aggrieved you twain, to   
think on your long-held resolution, that is not news nor new grief to him --   
I believe the information has been nearly as great a blow to him as your words,   
and the ones which you did not say, were to the Beoring, who nearly faded from   
this Circle before we might convince him that no fault in it was his, no more   
than part. --Now do you understand why we shall not permit you to do so again,   
even if you judge us mad to name him yet friend? 

[they match stares for a long moment -- Aegnor tosses his head at last] 

**Aegnor**:   
Only now you said you would not speculate. 

**Captain**: [shrugging]   
I didn't expect you to thank me for it, my lord. 

**Aegnor**:   
That's as well then, milord -- I'd not have you disappointed. 

[with that retort he turns to go -- and barely avoids a collision with Nienna's   
Apprentice, entering, due as much to the agile recoil of the later as to his own   
attempts to sidestep. The Apprentice stares at him with astonishment -- the Prince   
gives him a savage Look and vanishes, leaving the other quite bewildered.] 

**Apprentice**:   
That was your lord's brother. 

[the Captain nods] 

He was very wet. 

**Captain**:   
He insulted the Lord of Dorthonion, again. --I hope you weren't thinking of   
doing so? 

**Apprentice**:   
Believe me, it had not even crossed my mind. --Nor will it, I promise. 

[he shakes his head, looking over his shoulder into the corridor] 

**Captain**:   
So have you anything useful for me? 

**Apprentice**:   
I -- er, I hope so. Nothing has been resolved or decided, except that your   
friend's lady is one of the most stubborn souls ever to have been born, and   
the only development has been that far from discouraging her romantic illusions   
-- that isn't my wording, please don't be offended -- Nerdanel has rather   
taken her part and argued her case for her. Up until the discussion . . .   
got off the trail onto another course, rather, and she and the Hunter started   
trying to convince my Master's family to let them decorate the Halls with   
tree-toads. 

**Captain**: [startled]   
Tree-toads!? 

**Apprentice**:   
Carved from chalcedony with garnet eyes. --It's a longish story and not very   
relevant, which is what Lord Namo was pointing out. Unless you want me to go   
through it? 

**Captain**:   
No, that's right. --Hm. And your Master hasn't turned up yet either, has she?   
Very interesting. Has Lady Yavanna returned? 

**Apprentice**: [shaking his head]   
Nor her sister. The only people left now are Lord Namo and Lady Vaire, Lord   
Orome and Lord Aule, and Lord Irmo. And Luthien, of course. Oh, and Nerdanel   
-- but I already said that -- and Curumo -- that's Lord Aule's principal   
aide, he's like me, only -- of a different -- kindred. And not -- pretending   
to be anything else-- 

[aside] 

--and failing miserably at it! 

[frowning] 

--Perhaps you know whom I'm talking of? 

**Captain**:   
I didn't know him back in the Day, but the brief encounter I observed earlier   
between him and my master gave me the distinct impression that he's a bit   
conceited and given to causing trouble if he can get away with it. Of course   
you'll no doubt say that I say it as shouldn't, as the saying goes. 

**Apprentice**:   
No, you're spot-in -- spot-on? -- from target-shooting, correct? But not the   
kind of trouble you lot are always making. 

[glum] 

He just -- says things -- sometimes, clever things, and one looks such a fool-- 

[guilty] 

--You really should not be commenting on nor criticizing your elders and   
superiors, don't you think? 

[to his annoyance, the Captain struggles not to laugh out loud] 

--What? 

**Captain**:   
Sweet Cuivienen, how do you think I got this job? --The intelligence part?   
That's what I did for amusement, watch people and imitate them at gatherings.   
It took Himself to show me what use was in it, even before the Rebellion and   
the founding of the Kingdom -- how the things I noticed were often more than   
simple mannerisms, and not infrequently something that the individuals them-   
selves were unaware of, and how much less guarded the lordly folk were about   
the cheerful fellow who only talked of bows and hounds and hawks and points,   
than about each other. Very useful to Lord Finarfin, when the rest of House   
Finwe was intriguing like mad. 

**Apprentice**: [snippy]   
Still, I don't expect you ever -- parodied him, or his family! 

**Captain**: [bemused]   
Why? 

[pause] 

I repeat, how do you think I earned this responsibility? 

**Apprentice**:   
And . . . he didn't mind? 

**Captain**: [frowns]   
Well, I'd not say that. He rather minded falling off his horse for laughing,   
but not the imitation. Not as much as his sister did -- she wouldn't speak to   
me for a whole day, which got tiresome with her having to ask my sister to   
ask me whatever it was she wanted to know, though when I started doing it   
back she decided it was a bit funny and left off for the rest of the hunt.   
Which was just as well. --I presume you're speaking of Finrod Felagund, and   
not Lord Finarfin? He thought it a bit childish, but harmless. --Little did   
he know! But little did we all, then. 

**Apprentice**:   
You're trying to put me at ease and teach me something at the same time,   
aren't you? 

**Captain**: [approving]   
Very clever you are. --Can you tell me what? 

**Apprentice**:   
I'd guess -- something about not assuming things about people one hasn't a   
long acquaintance with; something about paying attention to the things and   
persons one doesn't usually pay attention to, something about not being being   
too proud to laugh at one's self. --And how to put another at ease -- and off-   
guard -- in a conversation. 

**Captain**:   
All that just from that! Amazing. --But what I'd prefer you to be learning is,   
what's going on at the Council. 

**Apprentice**:   
Oh, I am. 

**Captain**:   
But you're here, not there, unless you've some other abilities beyond Elven   
ken to employ. 

**Apprentice**:   
Well, no -- yes -- both, in a manner of speaking: I have friends keeping track   
of it and reporting to me. 

**Captain**: [flatly]   
You've involved others in this? 

**Apprentice**: [increasingly anxious]   
I just -- delegated, too. 

**Captain**:   
Friends -- on the staff, here. 

**Apprentice**:   
Is that wrong? You -- didn't-- 

**Captain**: [sighing]   
No, I'll not second-guess you. I didn't tell you how to do it, nor set   
conditions. It would be ill of me to meddle now, when we chose you for   
confidence in your abilities. 

[sighs again, and starts back towards the waterfall, the Apprentice tagging   
along with a worried look] 

I trust your friends are as trustworthy as discreet -- and if they're not,   
there's naught I can do concerning it now. 

**Apprentice**:   
I'm sorry-- 

**Captain**:   
Why? You haven't failed yet. 

[as the Apprentice is mulling this over, frowning, they come up to the rest of   
the group beside the falls] 

**Ranger**:   
Yes, but if you take the easy route you're practically in Thargelion! Then   
you've got to cross all that distance again, and you've nearly doubled your   
travel time. Much better to take the shortcut through the cleft at Aglon. 

**Beren**: [embarrassed, trying to pretend to be angry instead of grinning]   
--Would you just shut up about that? 

**Captain**:   
You're not giving poor Barahirion a hard time, are you? 

**Ranger**:   
But you do it, Sir. 

**Captain**:   
Yes, but I'm allowed. "Rank hath its privilege" and so on. 

[to Beren] 

So, which route do you think was the better before the War, the one through   
the mountain pass at Aglon, or the long way around across the rolling country-   
side in the east? 

**Beren**: [to the world at large]   
I hate my life. 

**Captain**: [settling down on the ledge and reclaiming his flask]   
Well, that's all right, then -- cheer up, you haven't got it any more. 

[the Apprentice gives him a shocked look] 

**Both Rangers**: [outraged]   
Sir!!! 

[Beren laughs -- and casually reaches over to shove the Captain playfully on the   
shoulder, coincidentally as he's just about to take a drink] 

**Captain**: [grimacing and shaking his hand]   
Seems as though someone isn't feeling guilty for having been killed any more.   
--If that had been the real thing you'd be in trouble for wasting it, whelp.   
And not just the usual background level of trouble, either. 

[to the Apprentice, who is slightly agog] 

Was there more that you've still to say? Or did you need something? 

**Apprentice**:   
Actually -- you see, I was wondering -- if you're allowed, that is -- 

**Captain**:   
It's a good thing I'm patient, isn't it-- 

**Apprentice**: [abruptly, distracted]   
--Ah, what was it that you were angry about, Lord Beren? 

**Beren**:   
Oh-- 

[struggling not to grin again] 

Not really. --Nothing. 

**Ranger**:   
It's because we found out that he gets flustered over perfectly ordinary   
words. Like "mountain pass." Or "rolling meadow." 

**Apprentice**:   
Why on Arda--? 

[Beren looks up at the ceiling and sighs] 

**Ranger**: [serious]   
Because of the way you say them in the High Speech. 

**Second Guard**: [just as seriously]   
Or what the same expressions are used to mean. 

**Apprentice**: [puzzled]   
But what's wrong with saying "the bosom of the earth"--? Or "cleavage," for   
that matter? 

**Second Guard**:   
That's what we've been trying to find out. He just gets more and more speechless. 

**Apprentice**:   
I don't think one can, actually -- shouldn't you say, "less and less speechful"   
-- hm, that doesn't sound very well either, does it . . . ? 

[to Beren] 

Do you think you could explain the reason for such reactions to simple   
concepts? I don't know all that much about Secondborn customs, you see, and   
I find them fascinating, but I so rarely get the chance to speak to mortal   
shades, and I hardly know what to ask or where to begin. 

**Beren**:   
You guys are going to pay for this. --Um, no, sir, I really don't right now. 

[sudden inspiration] 

You should really talk to His Majesty -- my wife's cousin, that is, and ask   
Finrod. He's the language expert, after all -- Elvish and human. 

[Touché -- the Apprentice looks around at their expressions, knowing there's a   
joke going on that he's missing. Before he can ask further, Huan, who has been   
clambering about on rocks like a mountain goat or a puppy, suddenly bounds down   
and goes running off with ears trailing like a mad thing into the distant shadows   
of the Hall, and then back again -- and then does it over again] 

**Apprentice**: [shaking his head, looking after the Hound]   
Why is he doing that? 

**Beren**:   
'Cause he's wet. 

[the Apprentice looks at him doubtfully] 

And he's a dog. 

[at the continued dubious Look] 

Dogs do that sometimes, is all. I guess you don't have any, huh? 

**Apprentice**: [drawing himself up]   
I am familiar with dogs, milord. I -- am just uncertain as to whether you're   
aware who Huan is. 

**Beren**: [mischievously innocent]   
He's our hound. He used to belong to my wife's cousin, and before that Celegorm   
got him from Orome himself. He's the Lord of Dogs. 

[Nienna's student sighs a little] 

--And he's like you. Immortal. Or like Tinuviel's mom. Only different, I guess. 

[the Apprentice recovering from his start, gives a slightly wounded look to the Ten] 

**Captain**:   
Beren figured you out all on his own. Perception, not deduction, though. 

**Apprentice**:   
Oh. 

[looking around at them, uncertainly] 

Can I rely on you . . . not to, er, what was that phrase you used? 

**Captain**:   
Blow your cover, as if you were a pheasant pretending to be a thicket.   
--We're safe, but I can't say the same of anyone else who might be here. 

[glancing around meaningfully] 

**Apprentice**:   
Oh, we're alone. 

**Captain**:   
Are you sure? We thought there might be company earlier, and there has been   
at various times, in various states of presence. 

**Apprentice**:   
No, I'm certain. 

**Beren**: [very curious]   
You can see if anyone's here who's vanished? 

**Apprentice**: [a touch patronizing]   
"See" is not the proper word, given that it is a perception or apprehension   
of the Unseen. 

[Beren looks puzzled, and gestures to get the Steward's attention] 

**Beren**:   
Am I imagining it, or isn't "perceive" like "grab ahold of" --? 

**Steward**:   
There is indeed a common root. 

**Beren**: [to the Apprentice]   
So why's that make more sense, when you're not actually touching them, than   
for me to say "see"? 

**Apprentice**:   
Ah. 

[pause. Changing the subject:] 

--Still, you didn't come up with a real explanation of your answer as to why   
he's dashing about like a dragonfly up and down the room. 

**Beren**:   
I already said. Because he's a dog, and dogs do that. Even Immortal ones.   
Also in the new snow, they run like crazy back and forth. Sometimes he chases   
his tail. In the woods he'd find fallen branches and drag them around, only   
they were the size of small logs, and we joked that he was a firewood-hound too. 

[frowning] 

We had a pony that used to do that with big sticks, too. Never figured out why. 

**Apprentice**:   
And that's got what to do with Huan? 

**Beren**:   
Nothing. Except they were doing the same thing, and almost the same size. 

[the Apprentice frowns -- and then looks suddenly worried] 

**Apprentice**:   
Erm -- you wouldn't say I was rude, would you? 

**Beren**: [confused]   
Uh -- considering I've only talked to you what, three times maybe? that I know   
of, and I never heard anything about you until today -- whatever -- and that's   
hardly anything at all, I really am not the one to ask. 

**Apprentice**:   
No, I meant -- to you. Just now. 

[pause] 

**Beren**:   
No. A little sarcastic, maybe, but not really rude. 

[as Nienna's student looks relieved] 

--Why? 

**Apprentice**: [glancing sidelong at the Captain]   
I -- ah -- well, I haven't any wish to follow Aegnor's lead, let's say. 

**Beren**:   
Well. You haven't told me I should've killed myself, let alone twice yet, so   
you've got a long way to go to catch up, if that's any reassurance. 

**Apprentice**: [startled, increasingly, and dismayed]   
Oh. --Oh. 

[looks around, trying to ascertain if this is a joke.] 

I -- really wish my Master were about. And I were home. 

**Captain**: [slyly]   
On Taniquetil, I presume? 

[this does not make his victim any happier] 

**Apprentice**:   
Ah -- could you tell me what I did wrong? How you -- figured it out? Please? 

[He sits down, a little uncertainly, socially awkward among the Ten, on a rock   
across from the Captain. Huan comes back and flops down not far, looking at the   
Apprentice and grinning.] 

**Captain**:   
You didn't do anything wrong. 

[pause -- the Apprentice looks exasperated] 

Not any one thing. The things that you did -- or didn't -- have almost certainly   
not been noticed by anyone else. Most people don't, after all, if it doesn't   
concern them directly. Now, what I imagine you've been doing -- and correct me   
if we're wrong -- is that you vary your persona depending on whom you're among.   
I expect you're Vanyar most of the time, except on Taniquetil, since you'd have   
the most anonymity that way, whether in Tirion or on the seacoast, -- or in here.   
I also expect that you're Teler when you're in Valmar? 

[the Apprentice nods, his expression mixed between chagrin and admiration] 

Again, you'd be rare enough, wherever you went, to be something of a curiosity,   
but so long as you have a decent reason for being there -- like being a servant   
of Lady Nia's, that's usually acceptable -- that rarity would mean that no one   
would be able, or likely so, to call you on it. And the curiosity -- assuming   
that firstly people here haven't changed that much, and secondly you don't do   
anything too eccentric-- 

[his erstwhile adversary grimaces slightly] 

--is bound to fade very quickly as people do have for the most part their   
own lives and affairs to manage, even here. --In a manner of speaking, of   
course. A good friend of mine back home in the Old Country excels at that,   
fitting in. But-- 

[he pauses until the Apprentice can't take it any longer; the Youngest Ranger   
starts a bit, and looks thoughtful] 

**Apprentice**:   
But what?! 

**Captain**: [teasing]   
Patience, lad, patience-- 

**Huan**:   
[sharp bark] 

**Captain**:   
Oh, all right. Due to a circumstance quite beyond your control, there is   
now someone here who is familiar with the Vanyar enough to mark such small   
discrepancies in your stories that others might not even notice, and attentive   
enough to matters of culture and diplomacy to worry about them. To wit, Finrod   
grandson of Indis, betrothed of Amarie, and also a certain number of those who   
were formerly of Finarfin's House, such as myself. --Not that the rest of us   
aren't good at spotting details, either, though not necessarily knowing the   
significance of them. But those remarks and reported comments helped build   
the mosaic over time. 

**Apprentice**:   
But what were they? There must have been some specific things! 

**Captain**:   
Lack of specifics, actually. Too vague on the details of what family you were   
related to, who were your kin, what was your House, all a very large part of   
it. The fact that none of us knew you we discounted at first, on the assumption   
that you must have been born after the Rebellion. 

**Steward**:   
And yet -- though such only could explain -- to counter that, ever the slight   
recoil, the lifted brow, the secretive smile whenever any addressed you as   
"young." 

**Apprentice**: [crestfallen]   
So it was me. 

**Steward**:   
Few would have marked your responses -- nor made much of them: both slight,   
and not inappropriate as annoyance from one impatient of being dismissed for   
his youth. Only in the combination, and in consideration with other things,   
and observed consistently over time -- and, I venture to say, only because   
I was watching you. One does that, when one must report how a message is   
received: the mere words themselves being useless without the setting, as   
a stone cannot be worn without its fixture. 

**Apprentice**:   
Hm. So what else was it? 

**Soldier**: [to the Captain]   
The children, sir-- 

[the Captain nods] 

**Captain**:   
That was another thing that was marked, by us, how you conducted yourself   
laboring in the Hall of Play. 

**Apprentice**: [anxious]   
Am I not sufficiently well-disposed towards them? 

**Captain**:   
Not at all -- you were too good. Even parents sometimes find the whims of   
their offspring to grow tiresome, as you'd know if you'd ever been either.   
But your patience had a sort of fascinated wonder about it, as if you were   
a loremaster studying some strange new phenomenon, or a traveller come to   
a place where the wild birds settle for winter, overwhelmed with bounty   
and hardly to be pried away from watching, when most people would have gone   
off with a headache, or at least requested a little more quiet, less frisking   
about, long since. 

**Beren**: [startled]   
There are children here--? 

[the others look at him, and his dismayed expression turns to bitter realization] 

Of course -- I -- didn't think-- 

**Huan**: [pawing over at his foot]   
[thin whine] 

**Apprentice**:   
Not so many, now. --And they do not stay long, usually. 

[Beren sighs, and nods after a moment. Curiously:] 

--You sorrow for those you've never met. 

**Beren**:   
Don't you? 

**Apprentice**:   
Yes, but -- you -- your people -- aren't like us-- 

**Second Guard**: [aside]   
Which "us" do you mean? 

**Beren**: [intense]   
--Aren't we? 

**Captain**: [breaking in]   
So after a while we started paying closer attention, after Himself pointed out   
that you never actually said "Ingwe" or "Valmar" when you were speaking of your   
King sending you to the Lady, and that everyone just assumed that was who you   
meant, when you spoke of your lord on Taniquetil. Things that startle you, things   
that annoy you -- you seem to find it very annoying to have to go up one hallway   
and down another to get to a place that's physically adjacent but not connected   
by a doorway, for example -- and things that delight you. Such as very small   
people who talk nonstop, for another. 

[rasing his hands] 

--Does that help you? We could spend a lot longer going into greater detail,   
but I thought you had things you were supposed to be doing for Lady Vaire. 

[the Apprentice nods, looking a bit piqued again -- then starts and looks much   
more dismayed] 

What's wrong, lad? 

**Apprentice**:   
I just realized something. --Well, not just, but I've been too busy to do anything about it. 

**Captain**:   
And? 

**Apprentice**:   
I didn't win. 

**Captain**:   
And? 

**Apprentice**:   
Not really. You let me win. 

**Captain**:   
I thought we'd established that already. 

**Apprentice**:   
And -- we didn't finish. 

**Captain**:   
Only just realized that? 

**Apprentice**:   
I -- I hadn't thought about what it meant! You could have demolished me,   
you were pushing me hard before you started giving me openings, and -- and   
-- I don't have a chance! 

**Captain**:   
Oh, you've got a chance, all right. Blind luck and random factors play a great   
part in these things. Someone might do something to distract me, or say something,   
or I might forget about a step in the Hall and trip, you never know. You could   
luck out, as they say back home. 

[the Youngest Ranger reaches over and pokes the nearest of his companions hard in   
the arm, but his superior does not notice] 

**Apprentice**:   
But unless something happens, unpredictably, like that, your friends will "bet"   
on you, and they'll win. 

[the Captain shrugs] 

I thought I was free, once I did this job, and instead I have to look forward   
to -- to -- what would happen if you'd actually landed a blow? 

**Captain**:   
How should I know? 

**Apprentice**:   
! ? ! 

**Captain**:   
I gather that you've been rehearsing and studying with other -- members of your   
family, from the level of skill you displayed, what happens when you connect   
with each other? 

**Apprentice**:   
Erm . . . 

**Captain**:   
Does it hurt? Do the effects last? Simple questions, I'd think, 

**Apprentice**:   
Well, yes, but it's -- different. There's a lot more -- noise and light, for   
one thing. 

**Captain**:   
Ah. You're not fighting in this form, then. 

**Apprentice**:   
Not -- not exactly. 

**Captain**:   
So you're cheating. 

**Apprentice**: [sullen]   
I suppose you could call it that. 

**Captain**:   
Well -- 

[setting his left hand on the hilt of his sword] 

Only one way to find out-- 

[in a quick gesture he draws it left-handed, in a second move flips it up into   
the air, catching it to heft it correctly -- and sweeps it over to swat the flat   
of the blade hard against the side of the Apprentice's neck. With a strangled   
yell the "Vanyar Elf" tries to move out of the way too late, and scrambling falls   
down in a heap, holding at his neck. He looks up at the Captain in dismayed outrage] 

I should say that it does. I don't know if you'd have to re-embody if I   
"killed" you, --I don't suppose you want to find out, eh? 

**Apprentice**: [stunned]   
You -- that -- I can't believe you did that--! 

**Captain**:   
Strange -- the effects seemed pretty believable to me. 

**Apprentice**:   
You know what I mean! How -- how -- that was so unfair! 

**Captain**:   
Not at all. 

[he gets up, sheaths the blade and holds out his left hand to the Apprentice, who   
stares at him in revulsion and scrambles to his feet on his own.] 

You had a fast three-count while I was drawing and turning it, and you sat there   
"like a bump on a log." You think an animal would stay still for such a threat?   
Go out and try catching turtles, if you think so. Not my fault you've not got   
the sense nor speed of a turtle. 

**Apprentice**:   
Turtles? Turtles are so slow, it's proverbial. 

[Beren laughs, as do several of the others] 

**Ranger**:   
Didn't I say something like that when you told me to go catch turtles for my   
first arms practice? 

**Captain**: [dryly]   
Among many other things. Let me tell you, after being in charge of a unit   
for six months, I had even less idea than before why anyone would want to   
be ruler over the Noldor. 

[to the Apprentice, as he sits back down among the company, very lecturing, but   
not harsh:] 

Lad, nothing that fears for its life or death can afford to be wrong in that   
regard. And we, who have to worry about doing wrong as well, can still less   
afford mistakes. To be alert, to assess swiftly and accurately, that's the   
only answer. Else a delusion of the Enemy might cause you to fail, and cost   
not only your own life, but all those you're tasked to protect -- or too   
great haste to guard against such might lead you into murder. 

[to Beren] 

If I didn't remember to apologize then, I'm sorry for saying that I wished I'd   
not seen the Ring, and shot you as a servant of the Enemy from far off. 

**Beren**:   
You-- 

**Captain**: [interrupting]   
I did mean it, then. 

**Beren**:   
I was going to say, you have to be fair, Sir -- you were only agreeing with me. 

**Apprentice**:   
Agreeing --?!? 

**Beren**:   
Yup. 

**Apprentice**:   
But -- you'd be dead. --Then. And not even have succeeded in liberating   
a Silmaril. 

**Beren**: [flatly]   
And nobody else would be. And the Silmarils would be where they were for   
hundreds of years. 

**Apprentice**:   
You -- you'd rather have died without accomplishing anything -- by mistake   
-- than . . . ? 

[he looks around at the Ten with a troubled expression] 

**Warrior**: [proudly]   
That's because he's Edain. 

**Apprentice**: [frowning]   
Isn't that just a dialect form for "Secondborn"? 

**Warrior**:   
Not the way we use it. 

**Apprentice**: [sniffs, grasping for the superior manner again]   
Even if one grants that you are perhaps not all crazy, you're still very   
confusing people. And no chivalry, no sense of sportsmanship whatsoever! 

[he gives the Captain a very stern Look -- the latter is not fazed at all] 

**Captain**:   
Lesson one, friends? 

**The Ten, and Beren**: [chorus]   
"War is not a game--" 

**Captain**:   
That's why I call duelling "that silly ritual combat nonsense." It creates   
all kinds of bad habits, and worse assumptions, such as the one that your   
opponent will follow the same rules as you. 

**Apprentice**: [rubbing at his trapezoidal again]   
I'm doomed. 

[pause] 

**Captain**:   
You don't have to be. If you'd like, we can train you properly, and not   
finish our match until you feel you're ready. 

**Apprentice**: [bleak]   
I'm not as good as you are -- and unless I . . . cheat . . . I never will   
be, will I? 

**Captain**:   
I've no idea. Only one way to find out-- 

[Nienna's student flinches] 

--Nothing like that fast. Or that easy. Same principle, though -- you have   
to try. 

**Apprentice**: [faintly]   
Oh joy. 

[pause] 

**Captain**: [serious]   
Do you want me to let you off? Call it even, once your task is done, and   
we're quits? 

[the Apprentice is clearly thinking hard about this, but after a moment he shakes   
his head, though with a very unhappy look, knowing he's going to regret it --   
probably more than once] 

Good lad. --Second lesson: it always hurts. No matter what you do, or do not   
do, the results are going to be unpleasant in one way or another. That's the   
way of it. You simply have to pick. Would you rather live with: having walked   
away? --Or being beaten like an ingot until you don't stand there like a rock   
asking yourself -- "I say, can he really do that, now?" 

[the other grimaces at the imitation, and the fact that rest of the Ten think   
it's funny] 

--or stand there afterwards saying "Hey, I've been hit! This can't be happening   
to me!" for another few moments before reacting. --Shock of it, and the fear,   
hurts nearly as much as the blow itself, doesn't it? 

[the Apprentice nods, unhappily -- then checks] 

**Apprentice**:   
You hit me with the flat, and it hurt that much. 

**Captain**:   
Don't worry, we'll train with blunted and dulled equipment until you're safe   
to handle live edges. 

**Apprentice**:   
No. That's not what I meant. 

[getting more upset] 

I wounded you with edge and point, and I didn't pull the blows either. If --   
is this what it's like? To be wounded? Only worse? To be-- 

[he breaks off, distraught] 

**Captain**: [gently]   
I knew what I was in for. 

**Apprentice**:   
But-- 

[he looks at the Ten, anguished, and is not entirely reassured by their expressions] 

**Captain**:   
Are you afraid that I will exact punishment from you for that? 

[giving him an intense stare] 

You've already called my honor into question a second time, and you know that   
I can slice the truth fine enough to weave nets for even such a soaring bird-   
of-passage as yourself -- are you worried I have trapped you yet again? 

[pause] 

**Apprentice**:   
No. You've only made trouble to defend your friends -- or, well, out of boredom,   
and -- 

[frowning] 

--I suppose I could be as mistaken as before, and quite foolish saying this,   
but -- I don't think any of you bear me any ill will. 

[turning and bowing graciously towards the Steward] 

Not even you, sir, despite some cause. 

[after a second the Steward gives him a neutral nod in return. To the Captain,   
reluctantly:] 

I am worried -- about what I did to you. Can I at least see how badly your arm   
is hurt? 

**Captain**:   
There's naught to see -- we that are but mind and memory have no blood to spill,   
it's but the thought of it that counts with us, so to speak. 

[brief pause] 

But I'll give you my hand in fellowship, and to seal our bargain, if you will. 

[longer pause] 

**Apprentice**:   
Forgive me -- I am disquieted and -- revulsed, I have to admit, by your state.   
--It's nothing personal, you understand. 

**Captain**: [wry smile]   
Do you think I haven't noticed that as well? Why do you think I baited you so   
hard and left you no time for second-thoughts of any sort? Had to encourage   
that hot-headed impulsiveness to the point where both your common sense and   
your reservations were swept away. 

**Apprentice**: [dry]   
Which, I must say, you managed most adroitly. 

[sadly] 

How you must despise me--! 

**Beren**: [frowning]   
I think I'm missing something. What's the matter? 

[he looks at the others, who look at the Apprentice, who looks at the floor] 

**Apprentice**:   
I am not -- easy, among the -- the discorporate, though I do try not to make   
it obvious, or be -- insulting, about it. 

**Beren**:   
You mean dead, right? 

**Apprentice**:   
I -- suppose, though the term seems rather clumsy, seeing how, well, it doesn't   
mean just those who are temporarily lacking as your friends, but your own   
permanently-transient situation. 

**Beren**:   
But you don't mean spirits like in the stories that are invisible servants   
of the gods-- 

[breaks off] 

--Is that why I couldn't see them? Is it just as simple, as stupid, as that? 

**Apprentice**:   
Er . . . 

**Captain**: [urgent]   
Don't trouble over it, Beren. The answer's yes, of course, and perhaps, because   
what does "invisible" mean? Only that you can't see something. Does it matter   
why now? --That much? 

[the mortal shakes his head -- his friends are much relieved] 

But I don't think that he means them in any case. 

**Apprentice**:   
Well, as a matter of fact, no. --The involuntarily discorporate, to be exact. 

**First Guard**:   
What about people who choose to fade? Like the late King's first wife? 

**Ranger**: [a bit aggressively]   
Right -- does that bother you less than people who've been killed? And if so,   
why? 

[Nienna's student is increasingly flustered and defensive] 

**Apprentice**:   
You have to understand-- 

**Beren**: [breaking in]   
He's afraid of ghosts. That's all. I guess it isn't any weirder than for me. 

**Ranger**:   
Yes, but why? It isn't like we could do anything to him, even if we wanted to. 

**Youngest Ranger**: [conscientious]   
Well, that's not quite true-- 

**Ranger**:   
Yes, but not really. Not "Undeath" or possession or anything like that. Being   
dumb enough to pick fights, that's doesn't count. Besides-- 

[giving the Maia a dark Look] 

--he didn't get hurt, in any event. 

[his commander gestures him quiet] 

**Captain**:   
Don't be so hard on yourself, lad, you were gracious enough to help me up,   
troubling to you or not. 

**Apprentice**:   
Yes, but -- I had to. I'd injured you, after all. 

[pause] 

**Beren**: [thoughtful]   
--Horses don't like going near blood. Takes a lot of patience to convince a   
green pony to carry kill, or go to war. They know it's wrong. Not the way   
things're supposed to be. 

[Nienna's student gives him a wary look] 

--Not trying to insult you, by the way. Just talking about it being in the   
nature of things. 

**Warrior**: [abruptly]   
What about you? 

**Apprentice**:   
What? 

**Warrior**:   
You change, don't you? That's what we've been guessing. --Though I suppose it   
could all be illusion, depending on whose company you're in. But when you talk   
about going home, you're like them again, aren't you? The rest of the Manir?   
So aren't you being unreasonable to feel as though there's something horribly   
wrong with us, when you go back and forth from being housed yourself? 

[an expectant silence] 

**Apprentice**: [still more defensive]   
When I -- forsake this form, I -- am not diminished. It's only a change in   
states of being. I -- can't understand what it would be like to lose -- part   
of one's self. And I -- I really don't want to, but I can't help wondering. 

[Beren raises an eyebrow] 

**Beren**: [coolly]   
Not fun. 

**Apprentice**:   
Ah -- oh. That -- I -- forgot. I didn't -- I wasn't-- 

[he sits down abruptly and covers his face with his hands] 

**Beren**: [even]   
It's not just that, it's everything else, too -- you don't know how much you   
take having both hands for granted until one's gone. It's not like having the   
arm broken or injured, either. I stumble just walking sometimes, because of   
that little imbalance in weight. 

[the Apprentice, hanging his head, does not answer] 

**Captain**:   
It's all right, we won't drench you for honest stupidity. 

**Apprentice**: [muffled]   
It's hopeless. 

**Captain**:   
What is? 

**Apprentice**:   
Everything. 

**Captain**:   
Oh, I hope not. 

**Apprentice**:   
Me, at least. 

[Huan comes over, whining, and tries to snuggle, leaning over his shoulder and   
pressing his head and muzzle against the forlorn Maia's face] 

Gyah!! 

[he tries to pull away from the sympathetic Hound] 

**Beren**:   
That's one of the dangers of sitting around feeling sorry for yourself when   
there's a wet dog around. He might feel sorry for you, too. 

[the Apprentice is treated to some more canine sympathy, not much to his delight] 

You better figure out what you want to do, because otherwise he's going to   
keep trying to cheer you up. 

**Apprentice**: [polite but edged]   
Huan, please. Would you stop doing that? 

[this has no discernible effect] 

**Beren**:   
The way that works best when he's being like that is to push him hard with   
both hands, just like a horse. Otherwise you're just going to keep on getting   
wet. 

[pause] 

I haven't been very good at it in any sense since I lost my hand, of course. 

[silence. Nienna's student grimaces and resolutely shoves Huan's nose away from   
his ear, straightening up] 

**Apprentice**: [sighing]   
I'm being insufferable, aren't I? 

**Beren**: [shrugs]   
You're being a kid, is all. And everyone gets like that under stress. 

[he glances over at his friends, laughing at himself] 

**Apprentice**:   
But I'm not a child. Not compared to any of you, at least. I'm not all that   
much younger than the rest of my kind. I just -- have a hard time settling   
down. Everything's so interesting and different, and why limit one's self?   
I thought I wanted to be an Eagle, but -- it turned out to be so much routine   
work, I wouldn't be able to just go off and explore as I expected. And --   
there were other incidents. 

**Beren**:   
Can't figure out what you want to be when you grow up, huh? 

[the Apprentice bristles, then looks a bit worried when Beren only smiles and   
leans back to look at the Ten again] 

He could talk to -- to Finrod about that too, eh? 

[ducking quickly to avoid a retaliatory cuff from the Captain -- even the Steward   
smiles a little at the by-play] 

**Apprentice**: [frowning]   
You're trying to encourage me. 

**Beren**: [shrugging again, pulling Huan down next to him by his collar]   
Hm, yeah. --You offended by that? 

**Apprentice**:   
--No. But -- that isn't how it's meant to work. You're supposed to be helped   
by us, not the other way round. 

**Steward**:   
Indeed? I had heard otherwise, but I must presume myself mistaken. At least   
with regards to who was also in need of help, if not who should give it. 

[pause] 

**Apprentice**:   
You make simple things more complicated, you know. 

**Third Guard**:   
Are you sure? Or is it only that they really were complicated all along? Lord   
Edrahil's usually right, even if he's got the most annoying way of putting things. 

**Steward**: [slight smile]   
One may learn patience from the most unlikely of sources, I have found. 

**Apprentice**: [mournful]   
And I thought Lady Nienna was being hard on me with that business of the candles! 

**Beren**:   
Candles? What was that? 

**Apprentice**:   
They're sort of like lamps, only more convenient: if you can imagine a stick   
of wax, with a cord running through it, the way the pith goes through a twig-- 

**Beren**: [pleasantly]   
Actually, I used to help making them sometimes when I was a kid. On account of   
how they always made me get the combs out anyway because of not getting stung,   
and hanging around afterwards I usually got to scrounge some of the bits that   
were too small to be worth pressing, and plus it was boring, but not as boring   
as having to clean up the leftover wax after. 

[the other blinks] 

**Apprentice**: [chagrined]   
You meant what was that business, not what "candles" meant. 

[sighing theatrically] 

She gave me a basket of candles, and sent me into Tirion late one afternoon,   
telling me to light one and give it to each person I met, if they'd accept it,   
and ask them to carry them around until they burned out. I didn't realize the   
basket was attuned to the storeroom! 

**Steward**: [raising an eyebrow]   
I take it you didn't expect them to last as long as they did? 

[he looks quietly amused] 

**Apprentice**: [exclaiming indignantly]   
Do you know how many people there are in Tirion? 

[the Ten exchange looks] 

**Soldier**:   
Not any more. 

**Apprentice**: [morose]   
Lots. And they all think I'm mad, now. 

**Beren**: [frowning]   
So what was the point of it? 

**Apprentice**:   
I beg your pardon? 

**Beren**:   
Some kind of lesson, right? 

**Apprentice**:   
Yes. I thought it was along the lines of a practical joke, to keep me passing   
out candles so that every time I'd got to the end of it, and was just starting   
to feel hopeful, it would be filled again. And when she came to meet me at the   
end of it, in the great square by the Tree, and asked me what I'd learned, I   
said that I'd learned not to ask how things could get worse. And she asked me   
if that was all, and if it was all, what would it take to open my eyes? Because   
I hadn't even looked past the pile of candles for -- oh, hours. 

**Beren**:   
Well, that's something you never want to ask, but what was the problem? And   
what else was it you were supposed to figure out? 

**Apprentice**:   
I was frustrated and I'd asked her earlier in the day what difference it could   
possibly make whether I ever -- attained the virtues she was supposed to be   
instructing me in, how could it possibly be worse or better for my part, what   
affect could I have one way or the other on the world. And she handed me the   
basket, and sent me to Tirion. 

**Beren**: [fascinated]   
And? 

**Apprentice**: [increasingly rapt in memory]   
I was so tired, and footsore, and embarrassed at the end of the day, and   
I couldn't wait to be rid of the wretched basket, and she took me by the   
shoulders and said, "Next, I want you to name me the visible stars," and   
I groaned, and looked up -- and couldn't see a one. There was so much light   
in Tirion from the candles, and people were standing on roofs and balconies   
and walkways talking and laughing, and they weren't really laughing at me,   
they weren't even thinking about me. 

[frowning] 

--And that was -- worse, in a way that I'm not happy about. The whole City   
was -- almost as it had been, before the Night, but different: you could   
hardly even see the Beacon, and the White Tree was almost as gold as the   
Lady Tree before She died, and -- it was so beautiful I couldn't even speak,   
and I hadn't even noticed how many people were carrying my candles, or how   
much difference it made as Narya came home and it got dark. And we sat there   
in the square and watched until the flames died away and we could see some   
of the brighter stars and did that and then we went home. 

**Beren**: [quietly]   
What tree was that? I thought -- both of them . . . ? 

**Apprentice**:   
--Oh. No -- that was the White Tree, Galathilion, who lives in Tirion. He --   
he was a little version of Telperion, almost like a portrait, but alive, not   
made of anything inorganic. When the wind blows he flickers just like living   
flames, but silver. You should see him, when you're-- 

[he breaks off] 

I -- I'm-- 

**Beren**: [looking at him intently]   
I have. Just now, through your words. 

**Apprentice**:   
It hardly seems enough. 

**Beren**:   
Never is. But you take what you can get. 

[the other gives him a troubled look] 

Sounds to me like you learned stuff from that. 

[Nienna's student smiles, hesitantly and after a briefer physical hesitation,   
holds out his right hand -- even as he realizes his mistake and falters Beren   
pulls him to his feet, left-handed, and leads him the few steps to where the   
Captain is sitting, giving him an encouraging slap on the back as his victorious   
opponent slowly rises and looks at him consideringly] 

**Apprentice**: [resigned, and formally polite]   
I'm very grateful for your kindness and trouble, milord, in-- 

**Captain**: [shaking his head]   
Not yet, you shouldn't be. You're going to hate me, and every single one of   
us, many times over, before you're through. 

**Apprentice**:   
. . . 

**Captain**:   
But -- if you train properly, you will learn not only self-defense but a certain   
amount of discipline, and very definitely focus, or you'll wash out very quickly.   
Can't promise anything more than that, and only what you're willing to learn. 

[daunted but resolute, the Apprentice holds out his hand again and does not look   
away in discomfiture or embarrassment as they shake on the deal] 

**Apprentice**:   
I promise you, sir, I will learn whatever you can teach me. Nor to quit before   
you say I can't learn anything more. 

**Captain**:   
And I pledge I will not ever, ever push you harder than I truly believe you   
equal to -- in training. In a testing match, that's a most different story.   
But even there, I will never punish you, not least for being good -- that   
is, I will never deliberately hurt you in retaliation for the same, of anger,   
or humiliate you for making me look the fool as you improve. 

[his adversary looks shocked at the notion; he smiles grimly] 

Oh yes. You don't think I've been tempted -- or that you will be too? Just   
wait until some half-yen recruit walks in out of the woods and splits your   
arrow without even half-trying-- 

[glancing over at the Sindarin Ranger, who looks away with an embarrassed grin] 

--and then does it again, without any more work, so it's clearly not one of   
those random incidents that sometimes happen -- and it's equally clear from   
the minute he draws his sword that he's never used it for anything but a   
machete to cut reeds with, or possibly to play at swordfighting with other   
children. If you don't think the temptation'll be there to flatten the little   
punk so that he -- and everyone else who's witnessed it -- will remember who   
was the one who looked the fool at day's end, then you've never been in that   
situation. 

**Ranger**: [wonderingly]   
We would never have guessed you felt that way, if you hadn't apologized for   
it when it was his turn. 

[Nienna's student gives him a puzzled frown -- answering the unspoken question:] 

In the Pit, sir. 

[the Apprentice looks quite ill] 

**Captain**: [to all of them]   
One learns things about one's self, inevitably, as a teacher, if one does   
the job properly. And if one learns -- then one has a choice that must be   
made. I didn't much care for the destination if I set foot on that path --   
it led due North, to my mind. Or who would be left at the end of it. 

**Apprentice**: [pulling himself gamefully together]   
So, what, you just beat people up for the sheer fun of it now? 

**Captain**:   
Mostly. Or because they need it, as per those who are trainees. --Sometimes   
for being repellent, arrogant twerps who need it, regardless of the amusement   
value, to remind them not to humiliate those they think weaker for their own   
amusement. But not because I've been slighted, however slightly, in front of   
others. 

[stern] 

Though if you do things that are not within Eldarin abilities to get out of   
trouble, in the future, you'll make that much more difficult for me. 

[the Apprentice nods, rueful] 

--Of course, you and I are going to disagree significantly on what you're   
capable of. 

**Apprentice**: [stoic]   
This is going to hurt. A lot. 

**Captain**:   
Third lesson -- it always hurts. No matter how good you are. 

[the disguised Maia rubs at the side of his neck once more] 

**Apprentice**: [a touch resentfully]   
Did you enjoy scaring me like that? 

**Captain**:   
A little. You were quite obnoxious, crowing like that earlier, you know, and   
I'm still going short for that last blow. 

[pause] 

--Not anywhere near as much as you not backing down, though. I look for the   
best in people, and sometimes-- 

**Both Rangers**: [coming in simultaneously]   
--he's not disappointed. 

**Captain**:   
--I'm not disappointed. 

**Apprentice**: [sour]   
You're all enjoying this. 

**Warrior**:   
Consider it thus, gentle sir -- you've been here to be learning patience,   
well, you've found the shortest way to it. Nothing like learning from the   
best, is there now? 

**Apprentice**: [wary]   
Indeed? 

**Warrior**: [nodding]   
Why, the commander will patiently drub you sixty times running, if need be.   
Where another instructor would say, "go off and practice at the pels until   
you get the hang of it," he'll keep after you until you start paying attention   
and actually learning. 

**Apprentice**:   
Oh joy. 

[but he doesn't sound quite as gloomy as might be expected -- this is, after all,   
a major challenge to look forward to.] 

**Beren**: [musing]   
You know, where I come from, we seal bargains with a drink as well as a handshake. 

[he and the Captain exchange a meaningful Look] 

**Captain**: [offhand]   
True. --You want to do it all right and proper as per the Old Country? 

**Apprentice**: [getting interested]   
Oh, that's with a drinking horn, and that beverage that they make out of bread,   
right? 

**Captain**:   
Something like that, yes. 

[the Apprentice does not notice the attentive and hopeful aspect of the other   
shades, not excluding the Steward, for all his attempts to seem disinterested,   
in his enthusiasm for arcane lore and living history--] 

**Apprentice**:   
Oh, how fascinating! A genuine new-fashioned custom from another culture --   
this will be something exciting to tell my family next time-- 

[meanwhile the Captain has manifested a drinking horn with rather ornate fixtures   
and offered it to Beren] 

**Beren**:   
Hey, I've seen this one before --Wow! I guess it did come from Nargothrond   
like everyone said. 

**Captain**:   
Yes, I thought you had. You want to make sure I've remembered everything right? 

[Beren takes the horn carefully, bracing the tail of it on his forearm, and tries   
the contents] 

**Beren**: [judiciously]   
That's not bad at all. 

**Captain**:   
Himself will be happy to hear it. It's always tricky, replicating someone   
else's art, especially when one hasn't a tradition of it, such as brewing. 

[he reclaims the horn, solemnly drinks from it and with a formal gesture passes   
it to the Apprentice, who unwarily takes a large gulp, and is horrified. Everyone   
else is much amused. 

**Apprentice**: [gasping]   
What -- what is this? 

**Captain**:   
That's ale. 

**Beren**:   
Also called beer. 

**Apprentice**:   
It's supposed to taste like this? Bitter? 

**Beren**:   
Nearly. I mean, it tastes the way I remember it, which isn't the same as really   
tasting something. 

**Apprentice**:   
And people drink this voluntarily? Not just because you haven't any wine? 

**Steward**: [aside]   
Incredibly, yes. 

**Apprentice**:   
And you -- you like it? 

**Second Guard**:   
Mortals do. 

**Beren**:   
Most. Not everyone. 

**Steward**:   
And a very few mad Eldar. --Most definitely not everyone. 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
His Majesty likes beer, sir. 

**Steward**: [haughty]   
His Majesty has not ever been able to determine whether he likes it or loathes   
it. Hence his continuing tests across the centuries, culminating in the experiment   
which served to prove that it would never under any circumstances replace the   
vintners' work in popular esteem. --Nor even rival it, saving among certain   
lunatics and risktakers both here and in Doriath. --Though I always suspected   
it was at least in part an affectation, to appall more civilized folk. 

[the Captain grins] 

**Apprentice**: [shaking his head]   
It's like some horrible perversion of mead. 

**Beren**:   
It is not! Mead is something completely different. And a lot sweeter. 

**Steward**:   
He means something entirely other by it, in any case. The word was simply   
applied by analogy -- it isn't what they drink here. 

**Beren**: [plaintive]   
Why did you all do that? How come you didn't just make up different words   
for different things? 

**Steward**:   
Alas, I was not consulted when our ancestors first devised language, not   
having been born then, or rest assured I would have insisted upon a more   
logical state of affairs -- I warn you, however, that the result would have   
been even more words, and thus more nouns to decline. 

[pause] 

**Beren**:   
There's that. 

**Apprentice**: [a bit sulky]   
You're enjoying yourselves at my expense again. 

**Beren**:   
But that's good. That means you're welcome. 

[the Apprentice gives him a doubtful Look] 

**Apprentice**:   
But -- they engage in humor at nearly everyone's expense. It doesn't mean that   
-- oh, the Warden of Formenos is welcome-- 

**Ranger**:   
Seneschal. 

**Apprentice**:   
Hm? 

**Ranger**:   
He'd be very put out to hear you. Formenos was a much grander stronghold than   
any of their holdings in Beleriand, because they didn't stop to pack the way   
we did, and so he has to have a grander title than anyone else. 

**Apprentice**:   
Don't they mean essentially the same thing? 

**Beren**:   
You'll have to ask-- 

[he does not duck quite soon enough] 

--ow! 

[rubbing his head -- to Nienna's student] 

See? That's what I meant. He wouldn't have dinged me like that otherwise. 

**Apprentice**: [bemused]   
But how do you know? What's teasing-to-show-ease, and what's simple mockery?   
Are there any rules? 

**Beren**:   
Nope. It just depends. --Do you want that? 

[nodding to the drinking-horn which the Apprentice is still holding as though it   
were a poisonous snake] 

**Apprentice**:   
Ah -- no. 

[with a very dubious expression, not sure what's going to be perpetrated on him   
next, he starts to pass it across -- but Huan gets up and leans over, intercepting   
it, and starts lapping out of it.] 

Is that part of your joke? 

**Beren**: [chagrined]   
No, I think that's Huan teasing both of us. 

**Huan**:   
[enthusiastic tail-wag] 

[Beren tugs him away by the collar again as if he were a horse and claims the   
drinking horn] 

**Apprentice**:   
Is -- that also a mortal custom, sharing one's vessels with one's livestock? 

**Beren**: [swallowing]   
--Not ordinarily. But it's Huan, and it's a shame to waste good beer. 

[the other grimaces in recollection] 

Besides, we're both ghosts, so I don't think it matters anyway. 

[this gets him a damp bit of doggy affection in turn.] 

**Apprentice**: [frustrated]   
I'm still baffled. I don't know why he's doing this. 

**Beren**:   
What? 

**Steward**: [comprehending]   
Being a dog? Or remaining discorporate? 

**Apprentice**:   
Both. 

**Beren**:   
But didn't he choose to keep going in the Rebellion? So isn't he under the   
Doom with them, too? Until Lord Mandos judges him? 

**Apprentice**:   
Well, yes, but-- 

**Beren**:   
You think he's gonna cheat and, what, use special privileges to get out of   
here? Like it was all a game, and now because he's a demi-god he's going home   
and everyone else has to suffer through? 

**Apprentice**:   
Erm-- 

**Beren**: [earnest]   
He's Lord of Dogs. He's got way too much honor to do that. 

**Apprentice**: [hurt]   
You needn't talk to me as though I were stupid. 

[Beren nudges at Huan's foreleg with his foot, and the Hound grins up slyly from   
where he's resting his head on his paws] 

**Beren**:   
I'm not saying anything that he might not tell you. He called me "witless"   
for being about to try to walk into Angband alone. 

**Fourth Guard**: [innocent]   
But what you haven't told us, is -- was that a conditional statement or not? 

**Beren**: [nodding towards the Maia]   
You want for me to teach him that reaping song that has a hundred different   
verses that all sound the same? 

**Apprentice**: [frowning]   
What? That's a contradiction in terms. 

**Beren**:   
Not really. There aren't any real words, and each verse is just a note different   
from the other one, and when you finish all of them the changes bring you right   
back to the first one. It sounds really neat when you do it right. 

**Apprentice**:   
How can you sing it if there aren't any words? 

**Beren**:   
Well, there are words, only nobody knows what they mean any more. They don't   
even mean anything in our Old Tongue. There are a lot of working songs like   
that. And they all sound kind of the same, but they're different. So the   
threshing song is actually the reaping song done backwards. 

[pause] 

They seem really easy to sing, but they're not easy to get right, and if you   
mix it up you have to start over, and your friends throw chaff at you for   
breaking the changes because if one person gets off then everyone loses   
their place. 

[with a rueful smile towards the Steward] 

Lord Edrahil absolutely hates them, on account of how they're boring and   
complicated at the same time. 

**Steward**:   
You left out the fact that once one hears one such -- tune, one cannot banish   
it from memory. 

**Captain**:   
And you've left out the fact that you made certain that someone was humming   
it, in response to your peevish reminiscences, just when the Warden of Aglon   
was happening along to scoff at Himself for having been set down by Amarie. 

**Beren**:   
See, that's humor-at-someone's-expense. 

**Captain**:   
And a particularly-ruthless employment of a Gift, as well. 

**Steward**: [extremely patronizing]   
--Delightful as this has undoubtedly been, I must leave you to your . . .   
simple diversions, now. 

[he gets up and bows to the Apprentice, just a shade too deeply -- his composure is   
mostly recovered and his expression is faintly ironic, ready for verbal combat.] 

**Beren**:   
But not this. This is just friendly joshing around. 

[the Steward taps him lightly on the head as he goes past] 

**Steward**:   
Don't bedevil your elders, child -- or at least make a serious effort, if you   
can't do better than that. 

[they share a quick smile] 

**Beren**:   
I promise I'll follow your example, sir. 

**Steward**: [sniffing]   
Did I advise you thus? I think you'll find not. 

[as he edges through, his companions all reach up and clasp his hand or pat   
his arm] 

**Captain**: [serious]   
Good luck-- 

**Steward**: [very dry]   
It can't be any worse than explaining to the Lady how it was that a conduit   
was inadvertently sheared across. --And no, I'd not have another instance to   
verify comparisons. 

**Apprentice**: [staring after him]   
You are all insane. 

**Captain**:   
Yes, but you have to admit, we do have so much more fun. 

[the disguised Maia tries to look prim and disapproving and responsible -- and   
fails utterly] 

Any bets on how long it'll take before he's tripping people into fountains too? 

**Apprentice**:   
. . . 

**First Guard**: [cheerfully reassuring]   
You'll fit right in. 

**Apprentice**:   
Ah -- was that meant as a compliment? Or as humor? 

**Beren**: [nodding, very seriously]   
You got it. 

**Apprentice**: [lightly, but with a more thoughtful look than his words indicate]   
--Melisma, but you've caught the habit of cryptic Elven -- erm, I suppose   
I've got to call it wit? -- as well! 

[Huan stretches his way up, leans over, and snuffles him enthusiastically, evoking   
another strangled yell] 

* * *

**SCENE IV.ix**

  
  
  
[Elsewhere: the council chamber] 

[the feeling of a long diplomatic standoff or cross-examination pervades -- all   
that's missing is a long polished table. Luthien is sitting with her elbow on her   
knee, her chin in her hand, looking rather bitter as well as tired; Nerdanel is   
sketching quickly away on some sort of small folding tablet with a crystal stylus,   
apparently not paying attention at all, occasionally showing her work to Aule's   
Assistant for comment. The Doriathrin Ambassador is watching the Powers carefully,   
particularly the two quiet ones, Aule and Orome, and the Lord and Lady of the Halls   
are stoic about it all.] 

**Irmo**: [with a lifted eyebrow towards his brother]   
I dare say most of us will express loud and vocal dismay if the word   
"inflexible" is used once more, Luthien. 

[she rolls her eyes at this sally] 

**Luthien**: [forced patience]   
What am I saying that is so complicated, so hard for you all to understand?   
--You're just like my parents, really. 

[the Lord of Dreams looks put out; Namo starts to say something, and checks   
himself, earning a sympathetic look from his wife -- and Nerdanel looks up   
from her notebook with a keen expression:] 

**Nerdanel**:   
Aught is there that confoundeth me, Tinuviel, I must perforce confess: couldst   
not with all thy manifest and obscure powers, whilst yet in the Old Country,   
thou to have prevented, ere ever he came to maiming else to death, thy true-   
love from his madness and his mad designing? 

**Luthien**:   
I already explained: I tried. I did everything I could to convince him to give   
it up and forget about it, that we in fact were free and no one could stop us   
from living our lives as we pleased from now on, and that he wasn't under any   
sort of obligation to my father since the task had been given in bad faith,   
and that no one, least of all Finrod, would have expected that he had some   
sort of other duty to finish getting killed since he hadn't managed it before.   
I tried reason, I tried simple begging, I tried tears -- nothing I could do   
made any difference. 

**Nerdanel**:   
Thou hast said -- but, methinks, not so. --Or wouldst say, in truth, that mortal   
Men be stronger of will and thought and deep-held resolve than ever the gods,   
than the Dark Enemy of us all and all his bonden Servants be? 

[as Luthien frowns at her, Nerdanel not giving ground:] 

Might thine own might not have served where 'suasion of plainer means did fail,   
and bend thy rebel lord to thine own temper, and held him rather by thy side   
perforce? 

**Luthien**: [snorting]   
Of course I could have. I could have taken Nargothrond, too, if Beren would   
have gone along with it -- it wouldn't have been nearly as hard as the Gaurhoth   
or Angband, I already knew most of the leaders and I knew them better, in any   
case, being Eldar like me, from a spiritual standpoint. There might not even   
have had to have been a civil war at all, no matter what he said. With my power   
back I could have scryed Celegorm's thoughts like Carcharoth's, and shown him   
himself as if in a mirror, and made him admit that he knew, really, that what   
he'd done was wrong-- 

[Nerdanel flinches, though controlledly, and shifts, her expression pained] 

**Vaire**: [meaningfully]   
You've thought about it, then. 

[Luthien starts to say something outraged and haughty, and doesn't] 

**Luthien**:   
I -- 

[she tries to speak again, and stops herself, looking both horrified and furious] 

**Vaire**:   
You cannot deny it? That you have considered both the possibility and   
the logistics of the deed, using your power to remove that obduracy and   
intemperate resolve from your lord's heart, and fill the wound with   
forgetfulness and pleasure at your approval, instead? 

[long pause] 

**Luthien**: [shouting]   
Of course I thought about it! How couldn't I? Beren wasn't being reasonable   
at all. It -- it would have been -- it would almost have been -- I could have   
told myself it was really only healing, if I'd tried it. That it was wrong of   
me not to do it, not to save him from himself. 

[pause] 

But he wouldn't have been Beren then. If -- I'd done -- anything like   
that -- he'd-- 

[she clenches her fists, unable to go on] 

**Vaire**: [reasonably]   
--He would still be alive. 

**Luthien**:   
No! It -- it wouldn't be him. 

[silence] 

And I wouldn't be me, any more, either. 

**Vaire**:   
So it is more important that his spirit be whole and undiminished, unshackled,   
than that you possess his outward seeming and presence, notwithstanding either   
the fact that already he was injured and bound by the effects of Melkor's deeds,   
or that the consequence of it be risk, and eventually the actual event, of your   
losing him? --In your own estimation? 

[silence -- Luthien gives her a very angry Look] 

**Luthien**: [sharply]   
That's not fair. 

**Namo**:   
On the contrary. 

**Vaire**:   
You do see it, then, don't you, dear? 

**Luthien**: [shaking her head violently]   
No, no, NO! You're missing something that's so important that I don't know   
how to explain it besides showing you who we were, and why you can't measure   
Beren, measure us, by any ordinary standard. It's like my parents' choosing   
each other -- maybe it doesn't make sense from a practical point of view, but   
there are other things that are more important, that are what the point of   
all the practical things really are-- 

**Orome**: [acerbic]   
You'll find that's not a comparison that's going to make your case more popular   
around here. 

**Luthien**: [hotly]   
Don't change the subject! 

[long pause, in which everyone looks expectantly at her, and she looks extremely   
defensive] 

--Stop scorning me because I was tempted, all right? You don't know what it's   
like to watch someone you love destroy himself. 

**Aule**: [with a faint, bittersweet smile]   
No? You don't think so, hm? 

[Nerdanel glances up quickly at his words and they share a long, meaningful Look] 

**Ambassador**: [quietly]   
Little Luthien . . . 

[she gives him an angry glare] 

. . . no longer. We were not so wise, we your elders in earth's growing -- but   
not in the Unseen realm, I fear. 

[her expression changes to sadness, both regret and pity: both of them know there   
is no going back to what was.] 

* * *

**SCENE IV.x**

  
[the Hall] 

[Beside the falls, the Apprentice is happily ensconced in the midst of the Ten,   
scratching Huan's ears and laughing at something someone has just said.] 

**Captain**: [mild]   
Shouldn't you be getting back to work? We really aren't trying to make trouble   
for you, after all, simply to employ your talents. 

**Apprentice**:   
Yes, but . . . 

[he sighs deeply] 

It's so much more pleasant to listen to your stories than, well, to be nagged   
and insulted by everyone else. I really ought to, I suppose . . . but it isn't   
as though the complaints are going to cease, after all. If only you could throw   
-- I shouldn't say that, should I? 

**Ranger**:   
Say what? 

**Apprentice**:   
Hah. No, you'll not catch me that way. 

**Fourth Guard**: [shrugs]   
Depending on whom you're thinking of, we might have already done them one better. 

**Soldier**:   
That's right -- they could be looking for you right now to report us, since   
the Powers are still in the meeting. 

**First Guard**:   
But, of course, we can't be sure, since you won't say. 

**Apprentice**: [grinning]   
Confound the lot of you! What have you done to those two this time? 

**Soldier**:   
Injured dignity. 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
And kneecap. 

**Beren**:   
Shoulder-sockets, too, looked like. 

[Nienna's student sighs, in an almost-convincing display of sober maturity] 

**Apprentice**:   
What did they do now? 

**Beren**:   
Insulted us. 

**Captain**:   
--That is not why they were forcibly removed from the premises. It was the   
attempted unprovoked assault on him that got reciprocated in advance. 

[pause] 

**Apprentice**:   
There's something skewed in your reasoning. 

**Fourth Guard**:   
Stick around long enough, it'll all make sense. 

**Apprentice**:   
I'm afraid that's probably true. 

[for just a moment he looks daunted, thinking about what he's gotten into] 

**Beren**: [curious]   
So, do you have to stay like-- 

[the Apprentice raises his hand, in a sudden and very authoritative gesture,   
silencing him] 

**Apprentice**:   
Do you recollect what I said earlier, when you corrected me as to the   
negligible difference between perceive and see? --That circumstance will   
no longer hold true in a moment. 

**Beren**:   
Uh -- oh. --Oh. 

[he nods, doesn't say anything else; the disguised Maia gives him an approving nod] 

**Apprentice**: [standing up and squaring his shoulders]   
Duty -- or duties -- call. I'm not sure when it will be, but I'll bring you   
news as soon as there is news. 

**Captain**:   
Unless you get distracted meanwhile. 

**Apprentice**: [stalwart]   
That won't happen, I promise you. 

[pause] 

Probably. 

**Captain**:   
I appreciate the frankness. 

**Apprentice**: [serious]   
It may-- 

[glancing at Beren] 

--not be good news. --Though-- 

[with a bemused expression] 

I've got to admit I'm feeling irrationally optimistic, since you involved me   
in all this. 

**Soldier**:   
"Irrational" is right. 

[at the Captain's Look] 

Sorry, sir, but someone's got to give you a hard time while he's gone. 

**Captain**:   
Yes, but are you going to remember to stop when he gets back? 

[Nienna's student turns a chortle into a cough and bows extravagantly] 

**Apprentice**:   
I pledge you, I shall be back anon. 

**Captain**: [with a casual wave]   
And we shall be here, most likely. 

[as the Apprentice goes jauntily off, the Captain asks Beren:] 

Did that confounded dog leave us any ale? 

**Beren**:   
Some. Not much. 

[he passes over the drinking horn -- the Captain finishes it and lets the vessel   
disappear] 

**Captain**:   
Anyone else feel that we've company? 

[the rest of the Elven shades look at each other; several nod, while others shrug] 

**Beren**:   
Is it -- her -- again? His girlfriend? 

**Captain**:   
Perhaps. Or not. 

[Beren looks around at them, shrewdly] 

**Beren**:   
You know who it is, don't you? 

**Second Guard**: [correcting]   
Who it could be. There are a lot of possibilities. 

**Captain**: [like someone trying to coax a timid animal out]   
You really are welcome to join us. None of us will trouble you -- not even   
the mortal -- not unless you start it first. 

[Lady Earwen's former handmaiden appears softly from the shadows, wearing a   
rather sulky expression] 

**Teler Maid**:   
I know that. 

**Beren**: [pleased]   
Hey, I was right. 

**Captain**:   
Oh. --Hullo again. 

[curious] 

Why were you pretending not to be here, Sea-Mew? 

**Teler Maid**: [haughty]   
I do not like that young Elf of Lady Nienna's Household. 

**Captain**:   
Why not? 

**Teler Maid**:   
He does not understand. He chides me for malingering and is overbold to tell   
me that if I do not dare to go Without, then I must not blame it upon any   
other, and also much to say that I ought at the least to go amongst others   
nor keep so entirely unto myself. 

**Captain**:   
Oh. 

[pause] 

You know, those sound exactly like the sorts of things I would say, if I had   
thought of them. 

**Teler Maid**:   
I did this once already to tell -- I have had enough of being set down and   
disregarded in life, by Noldor, that I should wish to meet it more within   
these walls? I think not! 

**Captain**:   
Now, Maiwe -- be fair. Not everyone treated you badly in Tirion. Didn't the   
Family do everything they could to make you feel at home and make the most   
of being in our City? 

[she doesn't answer; Beren et al torn between politeness and curiosity, curiosity   
leading] 

And my parents, too? 

**Teler Maid**: [reluctantly]   
Yes . . . 

**Captain**:   
Everyone of House Finarfin, in fact. Didn't we all include you in things when   
Lady Earwen didn't need you -- which was most of the time -- and when you'd   
let us? Short of picking you up and carrying you away like an infant, there   
wasn't anything more we could do, was there? 

**Teler Maid**:   
I know that you meant well, but it was not -- it was so far from what I was   
used! You and Suli' and Lady Nerwen and all those big noisy horses and big   
noisy dogs and big noisy birds with flapping wings! 

**Captain**: [innocent]   
Big noisy people too, eh? 

[she grins for a second before remembering not to] 

We were rather a rowdy lot, I'll admit, and perhaps we tried too hard to put   
you at ease by being easy ourselves. --But it's noisy enough along the coast,   
what with the waves crashing on the rocks and under the piers, and the wood   
creaking, and booms hitting, and the wind in sails sounding like a drum and   
all -- and I do seem to remember the occasional large white bird shrieking   
and flapping its wings for a morsel after coming back from hunting for fish. 

**Teler Maid**: [lifting her chin]   
It is different, in the harbour. 

**Captain**:   
What you're used to, you mean. 

**Teler Maid**:   
But I had no wish to go dashing about the woods and fields like that! 

[playful -- what follows is an old joke, clearly] 

--And you do not hunt fish, you catch them, silly. --And it was dull, for me,   
since I had not skill nor strength for your bows and could not contest with ye. 

**Captain**:   
And we weren't Edrahil, either. 

[the way she doesn't answer is answer enough] 

You know that if you'd kept with us -- I don't mean going out in the field,   
if you really cared naught for it -- but with the House, you'd have been far   
happier, met much nicer people who would have taught you all kinds of things   
and learned from you, too. But instead you had to go trailing after him like   
a poor little puppy dog all over Aman, getting stepped on or patted on the   
head by those who thought far too well of themselves already, and not being   
sure enough of yourself to show your teeth and make them at least treat you   
with respect and think better of your people, if not with liking. You did   
hoose a good deal of your unhappiness, Sea-Mew, you've got to admit. Even   
if he did alternate between encouraging you and ignoring you, or worse. 

[she gets more stubborn-looking throughout this lecture, and counterattacks:] 

**Teler Maid**:   
How can you say such hard things of him, if you will call him friend? 

**Captain**:   
That's how. Because he knows my failings as well as I know his, and does me   
honor regardless. 

**Teler Maid**: [intent frown]   
Why? I do not understand how it is that you and he have become friends, far   
less so fast. 

**Captain**: [shrugs]   
I could tell you it was because he saved my life overseas, but that wouldn't   
really account for it, particularly because it was largely his fault I got   
shot in the first place. 

**Teler Maid**: [narrowing her eyes]   
Would that not have the effect most opposite, in fact? 

**Captain**:   
That wasn't the important part. What followed was what mattered. And followed   
naturally from the fact that he'd long since become someone I had come to   
respect, during the crossing of the Grinding Ice. 

[pause] 

**Teler Maid**: [still doubtingly]   
So he did not go upon the Ships, then? 

[he shakes his head] 

Why did he not? 

**Captain**: [shaking his head again]   
You must ask him that, yourself, else you'll have but a friend's guess,   
whether it be true or false. 

[she looks down, and does not say anything. Very seriously:] 

--Did you really think he was with House Feanor, that Night, or that he would   
have joined them, or even stood idly by and not tried to defend you all? For   
not even the gods can say for certain what would have been, but I would stake   
my life upon it -- if I had it -- that not even as he was in those Days would   
Edrahil have done any such thing, though he would mock me for such faith. 

[long pause] 

--Maiwe? 

**Teler Maid**: [suddenly and sharply]   
--I did not think that any of our people would kill us, nor thieve us of our   
artistry, as they were robbed of treasures of life and jewel, either! 

[pause] 

**Captain**: [sighing]   
No. 

[awkward silence -- curiosity winning strongly over discreteness among the onlookers] 

**Teler Maid**: [trying not to sound like it's important]   
He is gone again, then? 

**Captain**:   
As you see. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Whither? 

**Captain**:   
To be harangued by Lord Finarfin. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Oh. 

[clearly torn between asking why and being too proud to do so] 

**Second Guard**: [hesitantly]   
Hey, Maiwe . . . 

[he gets the glare] 

. . . how come you've come back to join us again when you said we were   
disturbing you and you'd rather have peace-and-quiet? 

[long expectant pause] 

**Teler Maid**: [folding her arms defiantly, spoiling the effect by absentmindedly   
standing on one leg again]   
'Tis dull to be elsewhere, now that I do know that ye are come, and the Lady   
Nienna I might not find, for all my seeking, nor any of the Household of this   
Hall, saving those few who would not stay at my summoning but left in haste   
with excuse. What great matter is it, that all must be away about it? 

**Bere**n:   
Some of it's my fault-- 

**Fourth Guard**: [cutting him off]   
But most of it isn't. One of Morgoth's Ainur has been spotted prowling about   
the Pelori, and everyone else is trying to roust out the intruder and reinforce   
the defenses. Or so we have it on pretty good authority. 

[pause] 

**Teler Maid**:   
That was not much by way of an answer, still, 'tis better than I have had ere now. 

**Captain**:   
So, rather than suffer the pangs of boredom and the worse torments of not   
knowing what's going on when you know there's something going on, you'll put   
up with our disreputable and often-over-noisy company? 

[she gives him a very scathing Look] 

--Aren't you worried about losing your balance and tipping over one of these   
days? 

[she puts her foot down and straightens with rather a definite stamp, and then   
breaks into an unwilling smile and hops up onto one of the boulders, very much   
at ease.] 

**Teler Maid**: [teasing]   
At the least you have not hawks and horses and dogs about. 

**Captain**:   
Only the one. 

[she thinks he's joking] 

**Teler Maid**:   
Which? Not a horse, surely--! 

**Ranger**: [grinning]   
Well, almost . . . 

[he snaps his fingers at Huan, who sits up from where he was lying with his head   
on his paws and looks over alertly] 

**Teler Maid**:   
Oh! 

[she leaps off the ledge and stands there staring at the Hound, not at all happily] 

I thought that was another rock! 

**Beren**:   
That's Huan. He-- 

**Teler Maid**: [grimly]   
--I know who that is. I recollect -- and do well recall when last I saw--! 

[not taking her eyes off Huan] 

'Twas at your master's heel, before the House of my King, when your lord's   
father mocked ours, and would not hear any word of Olwe's wisdom, nor any   
counsel save his own. 

[her fists clench] 

--Do you not remember, dog?!? 

[Huan jerks his head aside, breaking eye contact, and barks sharply] 

Deny it now, would you indeed, wretch? I saw you with mine own eyes! 

**Huan**:   
[double barks, rising in pitch, dog-objecting-to-things-as-they-are] 

**Teler Maid**:   
You! Orome's dog, you were, but wicked, and untrue did you become. --Bad dog!!! 

**Huan**:   
[very loud, distraught bark] 

**Beren**:   
Hey! He isn't a bad dog. He saved Tinuviel's life. And mine. Several times. 

[she looks briefly at him, then glares at Huan again] 

**Teler Maid**: [through her teeth]   
How nice for you. --But he did not save mine. --Did you? Did you, Hound of   
Celegorm? Bad, bad dog! 

[as she speaks, getting louder, Huan alternates between barking and yelping in   
horribly-unhappy-dog fashion, backing away with his tail clamped between his   
hind legs. Unfortunately this means he's not looking where he's going...] 

**Third Guard**: [slapping at his paw]   
Ow! Huan, stop it! 

**Captain**: [very stern]   
Get back here. You're not slinking out of this. 

[Huan does the negative yelp-head toss thing again and starts trying to back up   
once more] 

Huan! Stay! 

[he lunges up and secures a grip on the Hound's collar, since words aren't working,   
hauling on the other's neck as the Hound pulls back and then skids a bit, stiff-   
legged, on the stone floor -- very much like someone contending with a stubborn horse.] 

Dammit, you Hellhound! --Down!!! I'm not equal to this, you bloody idiot! 

[as everyone else scrambles to not get trampled, Huan gives up abruptly at these   
words and drops into a crouch, the Captain leaning heavily on him and grimacing   
in pain and exasperation as he recovers from the struggle] 

**Beren**:   
Sir, why-- 

**Captain**: [tightly]   
Shut up, Beren, you don't understand -- yet. 

[to Huan] 

I don't care if you're a demi-god, a demon, or King Manwe himself in disguise,   
Hound, you're going to carry on a civilized conversation while I'm around. You   
will not go slamming out of here treading on people, and you will not shout   
and carry on like the Glamhoth if you don't like what's being said. --Is that   
understood? 

[he shakes Huan's collar once] 

**Huan**:   
[repeated pathetic whines] 

**Captain**:   
Enough. 

[a shocked silence follows-- to Beren] 

What? You've owned dogs. 

**Beren**: [faintly]   
Yeah, but -- that's Huan. 

**Captain**: [edged]   
I'm well aware of that, trust me. 

[Huan whines again, and Beren instinctively kneels down to comfort him, but the   
Captain fends him off] 

Don't interfere. You'll understand -- all too soon. 

[he nods a little and the other Rangers move up, not to restrain Beren but as moral   
support in what's coming] 

Huan. 

[the Hound rolls his eyes, but he waits until getting his full attention.] 

I'm sorry I called you a Wolf -- that was pain speaking -- but I'm not sorry   
for calling you a bloody idiot. Now, calm down and behave yourself. I don't   
like this any more than you do, and it's only going to get worse, I know. But   
you know you're stuck until you own up, no matter how many times you sneak away. 

[Huan whimpers and tries to twist around to lick his hands, but gets another shake   
for it] 

Stop that. Pity won't make me let you off. 

[to the Sea-elf, in a very grim and formal tone:] 

--Daughter of Alqualonde, self-named Sea-Mew, what complaint bring you   
against the Hound Huan, for which he shall answer? 

[she looks a little wild-eyed, now that it's come to this, but doesn't back down] 

**Teler Maid**:   
When Celegorm his master and his master's brothers did join with their father   
to steal our ships, and used sword and -- shield? -- shield, all with the tools   
of the hunt, the spear and the bow and the gutting-knife, to slay those who   
would bar them from the piers, and drive them from their own works by pain and   
terror -- this Hound was there, with the other Hounds of Orome's gift, in the   
following of Feanor. 

[Huan starts to make some loud noise, and is preemptively checked with a strong   
pull on his collar] 

**Captain**: [even more grim]   
Are you saying, then, that the Lord of Dogs took part, and led his folk to   
take part, in the assault on your City? That he is guilty as well of the blood   
of the Kinslaying? For that I have never yet heard said. 

[silence, broken only by almost subvocal canine whining] 

**Teler Maid**:   
Not of the former -- but yea, of the latter, indeed. For he was there, and   
stood by, and did naught -- naught! -- either to dissuade his lord, nor his   
lord's folk, neither to defend us, save to make noise of his distress, and   
to run to and fro, but what availed that, oh mighty and noble Huan? 

[she stares at him, and he cannot meet her eyes, but turns his head away with a   
small yelp] 

**Captain**: [dispassionate]   
What judgment would you have, what recompense, that your accusation is admitted   
truth? 

**Teler Maid**: [ice]   
None. What can give back what is ruined? Life, or honor -- once burnt, they are   
as lost as any ship. That the truth be admitted is enough. Let him bear the shame,   
with the knowledge of what was not done, as I have borne the witness of it in my   
heart all this long time since. 

[Huan makes a half-hearted scrabble to get away with his forepaws, but not serious,   
since the Captain keeps firm hold of his collar and he gives up as soon as it tugs him] 

**Huan**:   
[single sharp bark] 

**Captain**:   
If I let you go, --who are you going to go hide behind? There isn't a one of   
us whose ignorance will protect you from the truth. And it's a hard, cold   
truth, as hard as the Ice, and no mistake. If you'd come with us at the first,   
we might not have been taken by Sauron's werewolves, and the King might not   
have been killed, and Beren wouldn't have had to live with that. Or it might   
have all gone wrong, and the Terrible One might have fought you and won, and   
turned out to be the greatest Wolf the world will ever see, and we might have   
ended up in chains the same, waiting for death with wrists flayed to the bone,   
knowing that there was no breaking free and unable to stop myself regardless.   
--And you'll never know. 

[he stares intently at the Hound, ignoring everything and everyone else, including   
Beren's distress and attempt to curl up hiding his face against his knees, thwarted   
by the Rangers who compel him to accept a sympathetic shoulder instead] 

--And we all know this, even Beren, even if he's never let himself think about   
it. And we welcomed you back among us, regardless, for what you did do and the   
choices you did make, even before we knew the end of the story. If I let you go,   
Huan, you can vanish, and refuse to face what you didn't do -- worse than fire,   
isn't it? And none of us, nor even the Lord and Lady of the Halls, can stop   
you -- not even Lady Nia. 

[Huan keens a short, piercing note] 

Of course, you'll be abandoning Beren, and failing the trust Himself laid   
upon you, and turning your back on your own liege lady who's relying on you   
to look after her lord -- but if you truly want that, want to judge yourself   
more harshly than any of us, then go-- 

[he turns the Hound loose with a little shove, sitting back with a frown and   
watching him closely. Huan continues to hunker there, keening, getting louder   
with each whine until the hint of a yelp is to be heard at the end, trying to   
look as small as a horse-sized animal possibly can but still very much visible.   
Beren pulls away from his friends and stands up, looking down at the miserable   
Hound, his face a mask of grief.] 

**Beren**: [roughly]   
Huan. 

**Huan**: [flinging his head back]   
[echoing howl] 

[everyone flinches -- the Sea-elf actually covers her ears -- except Beren, who   
keeps looking at the Lord of Dogs.] 

**Beren**: [voice still ragged]   
Come here, boy. 

[crawling by pulling himself forward on his elbows, Huan creeps up to Beren and   
stretches his neck until his head is between the Man's feet, in the most vulnerable   
and submissive of dog/owner positions, especially for dogs with long floppy ears.   
Very carefully Beren steps over and kneels down again, putting his arms around   
Huan's neck and resting his cheek against the top of Huan's own head.] 

You're still my good dog. You try to look out for your people, look out, do   
the right thing, we don't make it easy for you, do we? I know, I know, --   
I'm sorry -- I love you too, pup, okay, get up, you're fine-- 

[as he speaks randomly, almost, crooning reassurances to the Hound, the latter   
huffs an enormous sigh, carefully and stiffly stretches back and up, and after   
nosing him gently in the face, goes over to the Captain, still very carefully   
and in the manner of a dog who's not sure if he's back in everyone's good   
graces yet.] 

**Captain**: [wry]   
Willing to forgive me? 

[he reaches out his hand, but before Huan can push his nose under, he catches hold   
of the Hound's lower jaw and shakes it as Beren did earlier, a gesture not so much   
of disrespect nor even familiarity but complete trust, as the returning gleam in   
the Hound's eyes shows. Huan lifts a paw to brush him away, but he lets go first   
and reaches up to lightly push down the bridge of his muzzle, making the Hound's   
head nod like a horse's. Huan bounces back like a puppy, stiff-legged on all fours.] 

**Huan**:   
[short, joyful barks] 

[he turns around in place, wagging his tail with extreme enthusiasm, and makes   
short little bounds up to the rest of the Ten in turn, looking completely crazed   
as only a happy dog can. When he comes up to the Elf from Alqualonde, however,   
he does not receive any such greeting from her:] 

**Teler Maid**: [biting off each syllable]   
Stay away from me, Lord of Dogs. 

**Huan**:   
[sharp whine] 

**Beren**: [covering the situation]   
Hey. Hey! You're being obnoxious, settle down. 

[he tugs Huan down on the floor, where the Hound presses up next to him as   
closely as possible, a little forlorn, but not wretched any more. The Sea-elf   
does not weaken, even when the Captain gives her a meaningful Look.] 

**Teler Maid**: [coldly]   
You are kinder and more gentle of heart than I. For myself, --I cannot forget,   
and do not wish to give up my wrath, merely because another justly suffers   
sorrow for mine own anguish. 

**Youngest Ranger**: [hesitant]   
I understand, a little. 

[she turns on him, but he keeps going, stronger as he continues:] 

It was hard for us all when we found out. About the Kinslaying. My people,   
I mean, for I wasn't born yet then. Even knowing . . . or believing, rather   
-- that the King had nothing to do with it -- and couldn't have, one way or   
the other -- a lot of folks couldn't deal with it. A few tribes who'd never   
done so in a thousand years, went and gave their allegiance right to the   
Greycloak instead. Even almost sixty years ago, there were still people in   
my village who weren't happy when they heard about me wanting to go to the   
King's War, not just work on the City and study there. 

[she looks at him closely] 

**Teler Maid**:   
You are one of us. 

[he nods] 

And yet you are with them. 

[everyone nods, not just him] 

And you are a warrior. 

**Ranger**:   
One of the best. Better than me. 

[his Sindar colleague looks away, abashed, and mutters something unintelligible   
except for the word "swords"] 

Yes, but you know your weak points and work on them and around them. 

**Teler Maid**: [to the Noldor Ranger, narrowing her brows]   
You are conceding that one of us Latecomers is better at any single thing,   
save for boats, than you? 

[he gives her an embarrassed smile] 

**Ranger**:   
Stranger things than that have happened, Sea-Mew. --Not just one thing, either. 

**Captain**:   
--I don't think that was what she was remarking on, though -- was it, Maiwe? 

[she shakes her head, slowly; to the other Teler] 

**Teler Maid**:   
You are not foremost in skill with the sword -- but you carry one none the   
less. And your bow is no light implement for catching marsh-fowl or fish,   
-- unless it is that ducks and trout in the Old Country have grown very   
large and fierce since my family left there? 

**Beren**:   
**Youngest Ranger**: [simultaneously, dead-pan]   
Huge. 

[the Youngest Ranger is indicating with his hands as they speak] 

**Beren**   
--Bigger than swans. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Which? 

**Beren**:   
Both. 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
My cousin spent a fortnight wrestling one out of the river, once. 

**Beren**:   
No, that was my cousin. 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Are you sure? Perhaps it was its nest-mate. 

**Beren**: [frowning]   
I don't think trout have nest-mates, strictly speaking. 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
I was talking about a duck. 

**Beren**:   
I thought you were talking about your cousin. 

**Ranger**: [snorting, to the other Ranger]   
It was so much less annoying for the seven-twelfths of a day that you were   
too much in awe of The Terror of the Northlands to actually say anything to him. 

**Beren**: [shrugs]   
Shouldn't have dropped your whetstone, then. 

[the Sea-elf has been regarding them dubiously with a not-altogether successful   
attempt to keep from smiling] 

**Teler Maid**:   
What means that? --Is this yet more of the strangeness of speech that followed   
on the dividing of our peoples, that you have brought hither with you? 

**Ranger**:   
No, I -- was upset and distracted and when we made camp the first night, I   
dropped my whetstone, and both of them said at once, "Look out, it's trying   
to rejoin the herd," without knowing the other was about to, and it sort of   
kept on from there. Turns out that someone-- 

[nudging his younger colleague] 

--is a lot less serious and quiet at heart than he ever let on all these   
years. We now think there's some sort of cultural shift to silliness that   
goes along with the quesse-parma and sule-thule changes, and that explains   
much of mortal humour too. 

**Youngest Ranger**: [stiffly]   
I was trying to behave appropriately among the High-elves and not embarrass   
my family for being a yokel. And you're not supposed to elbow a superior   
officer, I don't think. 

**Ranger**:   
We aren't on duty, Lieutenant. 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Yes, we are, we're guarding Beren. 

**Ranger**:   
But if we're in the field, on duty, and someone spots something, and is right   
next to another, one always elbows them to get their attention. Because it   
would be stupid and a waste of time to go through the hand-signals to point   
out them that there was something they needed to know about, when you're   
right there. Right? 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Well . . . 

**Teler Maid**: [dryly]   
If your theorem is correct, then the condition must come about when you begin   
to use our dialect as well. But I think it cannot be so, I think it is more   
a state to be passed from one to the other like damp or paint, for-- 

[pointing at the Captain] 

--he was ever so, and so I can well assure you who did not know him well   
in Tirion before. 

**Warrior**:   
That's why he went native so quickly over there. 

**Captain**:   
Really? And here I thought it was the chance to live out-of-doors most of   
the time without being considered completely daft for wanting it. 

**Teler Maid**: [narrowing her eyes]   
Silly -- and most deviously endeavouring to distract me from my questions   
and mine outrage. 

**Beren**:   
Nope, that was just a useful consequence. Mostly we're kind of upset and   
stressed right this moment and my people tend to make dumb jokes that some   
people don't even recognize at times like that. 

**Soldier**:   
What was it you were asking, anyway? 

**Teler Maid**:   
. . . 

**Beren**:   
See? Useful -- but complete coincidence. --I think she was trying to ask how   
come we don't just let the violent warmongering Noldor look after all the   
fighting for us back home. 

**First Guard**:   
Well, there weren't enough of us, for starters, not even before the Bragollach. 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
And you didn't come along until after we'd already almost lost once and had   
been fighting for a long time before and after. --Only not me, because I   
wasn't born yet then either. 

**Beren**:   
And it would just have felt wrong to sit around enjoying ourselves and   
looking after our stuff, and not helping, when they gave it all to us in   
the beginning to start with. 

**Teler Maid**:   
You said that twice. 

**Beren**:   
What? 

**Teler Maid**:   
"In the beginning," and "to start with," for those are entirely the same. 

[Beren just shrugs, with a rueful smile] 

**Fourth Guard**:   
If you correct Beren every time he says something that sounds weird, you're   
going to spend an awful lot of time doing it, --and you'll miss a lot of   
things you'd have done better to hear. Oh, and you've changed the subject   
this time. 

[pause] 

**Teler Maid**:   
You are all ganged up against me. 

**Captain**: [reasonable]   
On the contrary. You are all against us, and have driven us back together. 

**Teler Maid**:   
But there are many of you, and only one of me! 

**Captain**:   
And--? Still all of you, right? 

[pause] 

**Teler Maid**:   
Cease this! You are making me laugh, to think of you mighty warriors fleeing   
before me like a school of fish before a dolphin. 

**Captain**:   
Oh, not fleeing -- but definitely at bay. 

[he pats the stone next to him, inviting her to sit down again] 

**Teler Maid**: [glaring at Huan]   
I am still much wroth with him. 

**Beren**: [nodding, reasonably]   
Yeah, that figures. I bet you will be for a long time. 

[he thumps Huan's withers gently as he speaks, and the Hound sighs] 

**Teler Maid**: [frowning at him]   
You are not quite so ill-favoured as first I had thought, though indeed   
very untidy and unkempt. 

[he raises his eyebrows at that] 

But of that -- a great part is your devotion to your friends, even in despite   
of me, and for all that I am unfriends with them. I am much confused, for it   
seems me that I should like you less, that you defend the lords Edrahil and   
Huan counter to me -- and yet it inclines me to your part. 

**Beren**:   
Um. Okay. I-- 

[sees behind her the Steward returning, alone] 

--heh, guess we'll test it out some more. 

[she senses the Steward's presence at almost the same moment and turns, tensing   
up very obviously, with a flicker like wind going through her visible manifestation   
as though she were about to disappear again, but changed her mind. He sees her a   
moment later, and looks if possible more drained and disheartened than a moment   
ago, but resolutely comes up to them. Huan whines in a distraught way, but quietly   
enough not to be obnoxious.] 

**Steward**: [hesitantly]   
The Hour's joy to thee, Maiwe. 

**Teler Maid**: [brittle]   
There are no hours here, milord. 

**Steward**:   
I know. But I could not remember any other of the old greetings that should   
be fitting. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Why, do you hold that one fitting, then? 

**Steward**:   
No. 

**Teler Maid**: [caustic]   
What then, you'd not have me joyful? 

[he starts to say something, cannot, gesturing -- the Captain breaks in, rescuing] 

**Captain**:   
--What passed with his father? And how? 

**Steward**:   
Much, and ill, yet not so ill as might have been. 

**Captain**:   
How did Lord Finarfin take it? 

**Steward**:   
Badly -- yet, again, not so ill as he might. He-- 

[breaks off] 

**Captain**:   
Yes? 

**Steward**:   
He was far kinder to me than he wished to be, -- or than I merited. 

**Warrior**: [quietly]   
Not true, sir. 

**Captain**:   
Is he coming back again, or does he return to the council with their Lordships? 

**Steward**: [shrugs]   
As to that, he knew no more than I or you, himself. He would walk longer,   
and think-- 

[the Sea-elf is getting more and more tense at each exchange, until she finally   
snaps.] 

**Teler Maid**: [fiercely]   
Will you now again pretend I am not present, that you are among your friends,   
and do not know why I am hither even as I did come hence with you? 

[all of them stare at her] 

I tell you, I shall not longer be quiet! No, not though you should mock at   
my fashion of speech, nor yet be silent when your companions do so! 

**Captain**: [mildly exasperated]   
Maiwe, none of us here is going to say anything about your accent. Firstly,   
we're not Maglor's following, and none of us ever did, at the House or   
anywhere else, and second, we've been speaking Telerin, the way they do   
in the Old Country, practically since we left Aman. 

[gesturing at the Youngest Ranger] 

One of us is Teler, for that matter, you do recall. 

**Beren**:   
'Sides which, he hardly even blinks when I say things, and my accent's way   
stronger than yours. 

**Teler Maid**: [frowning]   
That is true. 

[glowering even more] 

You would dissuade me from my anger! 

**Beren**:   
Um -- yeah. 

**Teler Maid**:   
I tell you you will not! 

**Beren**:   
But you're not really angry with him. 

**Teler Maid**:   
What? 

**Beren**:   
You're angry with the guy who left you without even saying good-bye. But this   
isn't him any more. So he doesn't deserve to be treated the same way. 

**Teler Maid**:   
What nonsense is this? But of course he is the same who left this shore! 

**Beren**:   
Not exactly, just on account of being dead. But more important, from what you   
were saying, the Elf you knew wouldn't have put his life on the front lines to   
try to help an Aftercomer like me. So because you didn't recognize him in that   
description, he can't be the same person. 

**Teler Maid**:   
If not he, then who is to blame for it? If it is not he who belittled me, and   
stood by while others belittled me, then how is it that he does remember it   
and admit to it? 

**Beren**: [agreeable]   
Okay. But you're talking to him like he's gonna do it again, when five hundred   
years ago-- 

[checks] 

--Whoa. Five hundred years of being angry. Definite disadvantage to being   
immortal. Anyway-- 

[shaking his head in disbelief] 

--five hundred years ago, when you were both alive he wouldn't have admitted   
that it was his fault, right? So you both admit that there's something different   
about you now. Right? Besides being dead. 

**Teler Maid**:   
You are giving to me a headache. 

**Beren**:   
Nope, just sharing. 

[she snorts angrily] 

**Steward**: [very quiet and carefully]   
I'm sorry, Maiwe. You were not pleased to have me greet you, and the matter   
we were speaking of did not concern you, and for that, and for the second,   
and for the fact that I am much distracted by it, I did not think to include   
you in the discussing of it. 

**Teler Maid**: [raising her voice]   
Ah, now you will call me and use mine own name, but to quiet my dissatisfaction   
and defer my anger at your disrespect! 

**Steward**: [baffled]   
Did you not demand that I acknowledge your chosen-name? 

**Teler Maid**:   
Must you ask? or are you but speaking in twists to snare me in a net and   
make me contradict me for your satisfaction? I know this dance, milord! 

**Steward**: [crystal-clear emphasis]   
How would you have me bespeak you, then? How might I address you, that will   
not awake either your wrath or your suspicion of mockery or of manipulation?   
--What should I do? 

[she flings her hands out in a wild frustrated gesture] 

**Teler Maid**:   
Nothing. Nothing at all. --I wish I had not known you were dead! I wish   
I might not have to know it now, and then I might have peace yet! 

[she spins about and starts to walk off -- not, however, vanishing] 

**Steward**: [loud enough for her to hear]   
And I the same. 

[she does not turn nor answer, but stops at the closest pillar and leans against   
it, hiding her face, her posture both furious and forlorn. He bows his head,   
accepting her rejection -- but his friends don't.] 

**Captain**:   
Go over and embrace her, you idiot! 

**Steward**:   
She doesn't want to have anything to do with me. You heard-- 

**Beren**:   
--If she didn't want you to go say something, she wouldn't be staying around   
waiting for you to do it. 

**Soldier**:   
He's right, sir. 

**Steward**: [bleak]   
I should be most surprised if she did not strike me for the effrontery of   
such a gesture. 

**Beren**: [uncompromising]   
From what she and you said -- you deserve it. 

**Soldier**:   
He's right about that, too, sir. 

[the Steward looks at them, sighs, then braces himself and goes over to where   
the Sea-elf is standing beside the column.] 

**Steward**:   
Maiwe. 

[she does not answer -- he puts his hands on her shoulders, leaning over her   
a little] 

Sea-Mew, please hear-- 

[in a flash she turns and shoves him hard, flinging him away and back with such   
violence that he stumbles and falls to his knees, not trying to catch himself] 

**Teler Maid**:   
How dare you! How dare you think that you might come and call me after all   
that's passed, and I to answer to your song like an errant breeze charmed to   
your sail, for so long as you fancy my small strength to buoy your spirits,   
and then forget, or shun me, when stronger winds lure you to higher, swifter   
joys! No, I say, I will not be yours to disdain ever again! 

[he does not answer] 

"Maiwe," you say now, but do you not remember the times in Tirion when your   
friends would make jibing turn upon the word, and you allow it, or do the same   
even, that I was but a whining beggar, shrilling for your attention? How you   
should urge me to take some finer name, as I would not yield to your wish that   
I should give up my own House's way, to take a name when we should come of age,   
of that beast or bird most near to our own hearts? And would not hear me when   
I told you Swan and Heron were not for me, but only the dancing gull that   
silvers all the air? 

**Steward**: [quietly]   
I remember. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Would you now caress me, that would ever turn from me when I would take your   
hand and walk beside, nor let me set my arm about your waist when we were   
anywhere but Lady Earwen's halls, and did I make so bold, you may likewise   
hold in memory, then would you walk along the streets and square with such   
long and great strides that I must ever hasten to keep pace with you, nor   
might we talk, for the haste of your going no less than the silent trouble   
of your mind -- else you should grip my hand so fast that I take pain of it,   
nor ever admit that there was aught of deliberation in it, nor failing saving   
of mine own weakness? 

**Steward**: [not looking away, in the same low-voiced manner throughout]   
Yes. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Do you not recall how you disdained my gift to you, that I had gathered all   
of myself, and fashioned by my hands, and crude it was, perhaps, but my Lady   
praised it and thought it fine, and when I gave it you, you frowned, and but   
said that no bard should wear a wristlet, for that the beads would strike   
against the sounding-board, or 'gainst the strings, and so I should have   
known, nor asked me to fashion of it but armlet or collar that I would have   
done, had you but spoke the least, the least word of pleasure at my gift!   
Not so many pearls did I scatter that Hour in the gardens as I did tears-- 

**Steward**:   
I do recall. 

**Teler Maid**: [tossing her head]   
But what should I know of music, that did but sing simple songs, knowing naught   
of the forms and sciences of it, the modes and mathematics and the harmonics   
of the heavens that should order all? What was my melody, made but on a reed   
pipe, that I did cut with mine own knife and give back to the water when it   
had served its time, but the whistle of the wild breeze in the grasses and no   
art at all, rough and unshaped as the winds or my namesake's cry? But a buzzing,   
as of the blue-black shore bee, a silliness to divert children at their skipping   
-- or so did one say, who would be known as harper full great as his reverenced   
companion was at song! Do you not remember him, and the words he said one   
twilight Hour, when I would have given a tune to the Silver One? 

**Steward**:   
That, as well. 

**Teler Maid**: [jeering]   
No more to say than that? Where is your skillful debate, to set me at a loss,   
and make all my thoughts and words seem but the chattering of a tiny babe, and   
turn my sorrow and my righteous anger into folly before all these your friends,   
as ever did? 

**Steward**:   
Against the shafts of truth there is no shield strong enough, nor mail fine   
enough, to withstand its pangs. Be it enough that I can answer you at all,   
for even that is almost beyond my enduring. Knowing what has befallen you,   
and what part I had in it, is grief enough I think to kill me, were I yet   
living. 

[long pause] 

**Teler Maid**: [slowly, softly]   
I wanted to see you before me humbled and broken-hearted, as I have wept   
over your coldness to me. And now I have my wish -- and -- I do not much   
care to have it. 

[she makes a slight, half-turning motion, looking briefly at the rest of the   
Ten, and then away into the shadows, poised as if about to take flight] 

**Beren**: [approaching them, carefully]   
Don't. 

[she gives him a sharp glance as he comes to stand protectively over the Noldor   
shade, guarding, yet without projecting any menace towards her.] 

Don't run away again. It's not gonna help. Trust me on that. 

**Teler Maid**: [returning to the fray with a vengeance]   
And what, pray, shall help? Words, that he has ever used to tangle me and bind   
me into such confusion that I might not speak, or silence, that left me becalmed   
and moorless and far from harbor, finding no way to follow him nor homeward fly   
instead? I am no fool, I know how it shall end, as ever it did, with my self   
alone and in tears and a fool in the sight of all for loving him! 

**Beren**:   
You wanted him to be someone else. And he is. But now you have to deal with   
this Edrahil, not the old one. 

**Teler Maid**:   
For what shall I trust this change, that I shall risk my heart again, as in   
past Day, to find that it should last only until we again should leave my   
Lady's House for other halls? 

**Beren**:   
Because you're not a fool. Because I'm here, and you know how much that   
means by way of changes, because you said so. Besides, what have you got   
to lose? 

[silence] 

**Teler Maid**:   
Mine own valuing, that I be not the same poor silly child that could not help   
but cling to one who loved me not. 

**Beren**:   
But you do still love him, so that's just an illusion you're holding on to. 

**Teler Maid**:   
But I did promise myself that I never again should yield so! 

**Beren**: [wry]   
Did you swear an oath? 

[she gives him a puzzled look] 

How much is that worth to you? 

[he lifts his wrist] 

Your hand? Your life? --Forever? Pride's a damned expensive prize. I know. 

[she looks away, then sidelong at the Steward, before meeting Beren's gaze again] 

What have you got to gain by risking it? --'Cause that's the question. 

[long pause] 

**Teler Maid**: [very softly]   
I am not sure . . . I am not sure-- 

**Beren**:   
You came back . . . I think you're brave enough to find out. 

[she looks at the rest of the Ten, doubtfully and very defensive, to find that all   
of them are troubled, anxious, and none of them enjoying her discomfiture at all.] 

**Teler Maid**: [to the Steward, suddenly]   
It is said by sundry and by all that you are no longer the same proud, vain   
soul that was so uncaring to me when we were yet alive. Perhaps 'tis true --   
yet there is this as well that you have likely not to thought of, that I might   
not care for this stranger that you have returned, that bears your same name.   
What of that, my lord? What say you to that chance of a chance? 

[pause] 

**Steward**: [with the merest hint of his normal manner]   
I'll chance it. 

[they lock stares] 

**Teler Maid**: [suddenly very sad and quiet in turn]   
Perhaps it shall be the other way about, and it is he who shall not care now   
for one who stayed perforce and by her will to stay and never see the changes   
of the world nor to take part in any of their making, but only to hide in   
shadow-- 

**Steward**:   
No chance of that. 

[she stares at him, warily, for another long moment] 

**Teler Maid**: [sharply again]   
One chance you shall have, Edrahil, for I cannot spare you any more than that,   
to prove your change of heart, that before your friends and mine -- but more   
yours than mine! -- you will not be ashamed of me, nor wish me changed, nor   
silent, nor away. 

[abruptly she turns back and takes a place by the waterfall, next to the edge   
of the spill pool, closest to the Sindarin Ranger, and waits with a very   
challenging expression as the Steward accepts Beren's (unnecessary) help to rise.] 

**Beren**: [undertone, but intense]   
Whoo boy, this is not good-- 

**Steward**: [as quietly]   
How many chances does one require? If one does not fail. 

[he doesn't exactly sound cheerful, but . . .] 

**Beren**:   
This isn't a fair setup. 

**Steward**:   
Such is the way of the world. 

[still leaning on Beren's shoulder, he goes back and sits down beside the Captain,   
who presses the flask of miruvor on him without objection. Huan slinks over from   
where he was lying and drops down behind them, rather absurdly trying to keep as   
much of himself hidden from the Sea-elf's angle as possible.] 

**Teler Maid**:   
Now. --Tell me about the world, and what it is like in these days, and the   
other Children who dwell in it now, and your War against the traitor-god,   
and everything else I am ignorant of--! 

* * *

**SCENE IV.xi**

  
[Elsewhere -- the empty area of shadows, in which the semblance of a gated   
archway has appeared again.] 

[Finrod is standing in front of it, addressing the unseen someone through   
the lattice, in a concluding-business manner.] 

**Finrod**:   
Thank you again for hearing me out. I won't say you'll not regret it --   
but I promise you'll find it worth your trouble. 

[the gate fades away completely once more, but he does not seem discouraged   
as he turns to leave.] 

* * *

**SCENE IV.xii**

  
[Elsewhere: the counsel chamber] 

[the dynamics have changed again -- this time it is the Lord of the Hunt who is   
going at it animatedly with the Elven members of the group, living and dead, while   
his colleagues look on.] 

**Ambassador**: [earnestly]   
But it is not the same, my Lord. It may indeed be better, here -- but it is   
not what we are used to. 

**Orome**:   
And? Reason considers the objective values of each circumstance and judges   
between them on that basis. Alone. 

[to Aule] 

Right? 

[scowling at the Middle-earthers] 

--Not on the basis of sentimentality and a hidebound reluctance to embrace   
change. 

**Luthien**:   
Then you could have all just moved back, couldn't you? 

[silence] 

**Vaire**: [sighing]   
You don't seriously think that people are going to be able to just leave   
everything they've built and pack up and go to the other side of the world   
again just like that? 

**Luthien**:   
Oh, come on! 

**Ambassador**: [quietly]   
Princess, regardless of the validity of your views, you do yourself and them   
no service by this incivility and uneducated language. 

[aside] 

And you make us look bad, as well. 

[she snorts and folds her arms angrily, giving him a sidelong Look] 

**Nerdanel**:   
Nay, but 'tis but truth: our parents needs must make shift unto the same,   
even as -- I deem -- Melian's daughter would declare. Her question -- if   
I do interpret aright -- is not without all reason, wherefore it should   
behoove us better to remove hither, than ye to remove hence. 

**Luthien**:   
I really don't see what the difficulty is. After all, that's what Mom did. 

**Vaire**:   
Your mother had nothing tying her to Valinor, dear. 

**Irmo**: [aside]   
Except for a job. But -- pfft -- what's that matter? You don't even need   
to tell people you're not coming back -- they'll figure it out eventually,   
after all! 

**Luthien**:   
After all, if that had been the case then there wouldn't be any Return,   
because we would all be here-- 

[checks] 

I mean, there -- anyhow, there wouldn't have been any Kinslaying or any   
reason for people to treat each other differently, because we'd all be   
the same. 

**Ambassador**:   
I fear you're being overly optimistic, my Princess. 

**Aule**: [with a disbelieving smile, ironic]   
And what about the Trees? It isn't as though my wife could have made Them   
over again, and They were a little -- just a trifle -- large to dig up and   
transplant like chrysanthemums. 

**Luthien**:   
We did fine without Them. 

[to her compatriot, not waiting for agreement] 

Right? 

[very patronizingly to the Smith] 

--They could have stayed here, and you could have remade the Lamps there,   
if you wanted. 

**Namo**: [adamant]   
No. 

**Aule**:   
There were -- serious design flaws -- in the Lamps. The risks-- 

[Luthien interrupts again; Aule's Assistant rolls his eyes] 

**Luthien**:   
--But there was only a risk because Morgoth was out-and-about, and since   
he was locked up then it would have been safe, right -- who else was going   
to try to get at them? 

**Irmo**: [patiently]   
Well, as a matter of fact, there was Ungoliant. We didn't know about her at   
the time, of course. But dangers one is unaware of are not non-existent-- 

**Luthien**:   
--Don't talk down to me! 

**Irmo**:   
Then don't ignore the obvious. You-- 

[shaking his head] 

You're acting as though none of these sorts of problems ever came up in   
discussions, as though they never would have crossed our minds until you   
suggested them. 

**Luthien**:   
Well, make them sturdier, or -- put some sort of covers on, or barriers   
about them, or something. A solution could have been found. 

[Aule covers a smile; the Weaver leans over and whispers to her husband] 

**Vaire**:   
Is this reminding you of anyone we know? 

[he nods briefly, inspecting the contents of his cup as an alternative to   
the debate] 

**Luthien**: [gesturing widely]   
It's not critical anyway, we didn't need them -- we didn't need anything   
besides the stars. 

**Irmo**: [raising his hand in turn]   
There are all kinds of issues that -- we could spend decades considering   
them in-depth -- where to set up, the distance from the Sea, the   
transportation issues of bringing all of our work and re-establishing   
it in Middle-earth again -- the not-inconsiderable emotional effects of   
returning to a place of such mixed memories -- these Halls themselves --   
just to begin with a few. 

**Luthien**: [with a dismissive shrug]   
Something could have been figured out. It would have saved so much trouble. 

**Nerdanel**:   
Nay, 'tis not so simple of a matter as wouldst make it. Manifold and deeply-   
meshed as the ore ere it is smelted be the elements of these our Kindreds'   
difficulties, and eke that is changed doth change a dozen other of diverse   
sort, and eke in own turn still more, so that in end what was should be so   
changed that none might guess how had it befallen from the first, that be   
but one change and that but slight -- and each various end bring both ill   
and good in company, and what serveth one should disservice render to another,   
or harm, else displeasure. --Thy mother and father should have been more glad,   
had thy true-love ne'er crossed thy path, and they have suffered even of the   
same cause that thou hast taken joy, and thou as well joy and sorrow at once   
hath found, and shalt thou -- or any -- sever the twain? 

**Luthien**: [calm]   
That's because they were stupid. 

[the Ambassador winces] 

If they hadn't been selfish idiots, nobody would have suffered. We could have   
been happy, and everything would have been all right for everyone, not just us.   
Instead, they started a chain of events that's killed I don't know how many   
people so far and made even more people miserable. It's their own fault, and   
it isn't complicated at all. 

**Nerdanel**: [very quietly]   
And yet -- thy lord is mortal. 

[Luthien ignores this, though her chin goes up a little more] 

**Ambassador**: [sighing]   
Highness, Highness, you know it is more complex than mere folly. You know   
that your father's Sight long forewarned him that disaster and trouble   
should attend the coming of humans into our lands, that your mother has   
contended with encroaching Doom for Ages, and you know your parents'   
wisdom is to credit for our realm's ancient safety and prosperity. Why   
should he -- or we -- misdoubt any of his forebodings, nor make light of   
the risks that Men should pose? Were not the doubts he held of our foreign   
kin most sadly proven well-founded? 

[she doesn't answer; everyone in the room looks a little grimmer at that] 

Then why should they not deem it so that -- he -- should be the fulfilment   
of that dark vision, and his beguiling of you, my lady, the catastrophe your   
father so long ago Foresaw? 

**Orome**:   
That's a good argument right there against having that information just   
out there. People make bad decisions based on incomplete data and set in   
motion events that are far beyond their ability to control. If Elwe had   
just stuck with the plan, and brought everyone here, we wouldn't be dealing   
with this mess. 

**Luthien**:   
But if we had all just stayed in Middle-earth then it wouldn't have mattered,   
because then mortals would simply have come along when it was their time just   
like the Naugrim and there wouldn't have been any reason to be suspicious and   
none of the troubles that followed would have happened. 

**Ambassador**:   
Once more I must declare I think that a far-from-warranted assumption, my lady. 

**Irmo**: [frustrated]   
There are two distinct problems that you're conflating and that's creating chaos.   
One is whether or not we should have brought, or tried to bring, your people here   
to a defensible place and a place of safety. Which it is, by every possible   
standard of comparison. There have been three instances of murder, in Aman,   
all connected, in all of recorded history. The number of deaths at Alqualonde-- 

[raising his hand, giving his brother a meaningful Look] 

--I'm not minimizing them, I'm just being accurate -- do not begin to   
approach the tallies of those killed in Beleriand before Morgoth ever   
returned. --Needless deaths, which would not have happened had your   
father carried out his obligations instead of tarrying to seduce your   
mother and leave your people to fend for themselves-- 

**Luthien**: [hotly]   
--That isn't what happened! 

**Irmo**: [keeping going]   
The other problem is whether or not we should have informed you of the fact   
that you were not intended to be alone in the world and that other sentient   
life-forms would eventually appear on the central land-mass, which is an   
entirely different topic, despite the efforts of-- 

[giving Nerdanel a troubled glance] 

--various parties to connect them in discussion. 

**Nerdanel**: [didactic]   
Thou knowest I do hold and ever have, that yon long-made choice to withhold   
counsel from our kindreds concerning the coming of the Secondborn was grievous   
error, nor without some part in the cause of my husband's festering madnesses.   
Ye should ne'er have left unto the Dark Lord that knowledge to convey, and   
impart withal the taint of his own jealousy. 

**Aule**: [creasing his brows]   
No, 'Danel, I'm afraid I can't remember you saying that . . . more than,   
oh, six or seven thousand times this Age. 

**Irmo**: [admonitory]   
That sort of sarcasm is very inappropriate, you do realize? 

**Nerdanel**: [smiling]   
Nay, but we of his Following are well used unto his ways, my Lord-- 

**Luthien**: [cutting her off, to the Lord of Dreams]   
--Who was being sarcastic about my mother just a few minutes ago? 

**Vaire**:   
Luthien. Would you please stop interrupting like that? 

[Luthien subsides with a very bad grace] 

**Orome**:   
It wouldn't have become an issue anyway, if he had stayed locked up. 

**Irmo**: [leaning forward, very definite and stern]   
We don't know that. 

**Orome**: [snorting]   
How could it have been an issue? How? You tell me. 

**Aule**: [steepling his fingers]   
Developments in better scrying technology. 

**Irmo**:   
The fact that no one had Seen the Secondborn yet proves nothing about   
whether or not anyone would have Seen them eventually, either. 

**Assistant**:   
Or that the curious might have made eastward expeditions in time without,   
or with, Feanor's involvement, my Lord. 

**Luthien**: [caustic]   
We would have known, as soon as humans turned up. Once you meet someone   
it's sort of difficult to keep on not knowing they exist. 

**Assistant**: [dryly]   
Highness, -- do you not think it might be fitting to show oh, at least as   
much respect to a Power here as you do at home? 

[the Lord of the Hunt fights back a grin] 

**Orome**:   
Oh, trust me, she is. 

**Ambassador**: [hoping against hope]   
You were not really this rude to your lady mother--? 

**Luthien**:   
. . . 

**Nerdanel**: [dauntingly]   
So much of empty breeze is this talk. I stand in great amaze, noble ones,   
that any yet should yet aver, that darkness of intellect should be preferred,   
e'en but in fancy and conjecture, as conducible to light and peace -- when   
manifestly hath it been far otherwise! 

**Aule**: [patient]   
'Danel, we're just talking hypotheticals. Discussing possibilities is casting   
light on them, don't you agree-- 

**Luthien**: [frowning]   
What are chrysanthemums? Are they something new? 

**Namo**: [aside to his wife as the debate spirals on]   
There are many reasons why I'm hoping they track down that rogue soon. 

**Vaire**: [mock reproach]   
That's hardly fair, darling. 

**Namo**:   
Oh, I'll need you to coordinate operations. A perfectly legitimate reason to   
adjourn for a while. 

**Vaire**: [smiling briefly]   
It won't make the problem go away, you know-- 

[she flinches as the Hunter pounds on the arm of his chair to reinforce a point] 

--Tav--! 

**Orome**: [not hearing her]   
All right. --All right. If that's what you want we can go through every single   
reason for and against-- 

[the Doomsman, sighing, reaches up to snap his fingers again, filling the room   
with a blinding burst of light . . .]   


* * *

**SCENE IV.xiii**

  
[the Hall] 

[beside the waterfall -- the Ten are gathered in a loose circle, at ease, though   
not entirely careless: there is a wary attention both to the shadows around and   
to the latest addition to the company, who is seated among them with only a   
slightly-less hostile and confrontative demeanor. Beren is on her left, on the   
other side of the Teler Ranger, and Huan is curled up behind the Captain and   
the Steward, (who are using him for a backrest) with his nose between his paws,   
though his expression betrays the fact that he is paying attention to the   
conversation. The Sea-elf is looking across the circle at her ex with rather   
a critical tilt to her head.] 

**Teler Maid**: [to the Steward, wonderingly]   
I do not think I have ever heard you be silent for so long. 

**Steward**: [nods]   
It is -- most awkward to engage in a conversation when the matter of it is   
one's own praises. 

**Teler Maid**: [acerbic]   
I do recollect it never troubled you before, that you should be hailed amidst   
your peers, and those you'd have hold you as such. --And what's more: since   
when is "madly fixed upon every least detail unto the weight of a single grain,"   
a word of praise? 

**Third Guard**: [breaking in]   
--Since it meant the difference between life and death to an awful lot of   
families, my own included. 

**Soldier**:   
And not just ours, but the High King's following as well. 

**Third Guard**:   
That's what I said. 

**Soldier**:   
Oh. That's right, you were with them originally, weren't you? I'd forgotten. 

**Teler Maid**: [turning sharply on him]   
Are you a Kinslayer, then? 

**Third Guard**:   
No. We were with Lord Turgon and their father, not his siblings. 

[pause] 

**Teler Maid**: [darkly]   
I could almost wish it were so that one might speak untruth here, that I   
might deny you. 

[Beren leans forward to get her attention] 

**Beren**: [chiding]   
Hey. You want to take your anger out on someone, yell at me, why don't you? 

**Teler Maid**:   
But you were not party to it -- you were not even born yet, then. 

**Beren**:   
Doesn't seem to make much of a difference to most folks, so far. But that's   
my point. 

[she scowls at him] 

**Teler Maid**:   
I do not like you so well now. 

**Beren**: [shrugs]   
Sorry. 

**Teler Maid**: [distracted]   
--How do you manage without your hand? 

**Beren**:   
Not too good. 

**Teler Maid**:   
--Do you not mean "well"--? 

**Beren**: [shrugging again]   
That too. 

[as he answers she catches herself, guiltily, and gives a quick look over in hopes   
that the Steward hasn't noticed. No luck, though he does not say anything and looks   
down at once; she glares hard at him and crosses her arms in defensive defiance.   
The Youngest Ranger taps her elbow, and nods meaningfully towards the mortal.] 

**Youngest Ranger**: [not meanly, though]   
You want to really drive yourself mad -- and everyone else for good measure   
-- try counting how many different ways he's got for saying yes that aren't   
the word "yes." 

[pause] 

**Teler Maid**: [stiffly]   
I am sorry, Lord Beren. I ought not to make a fellow guest to feel unwelcome   
here. 

**Beren**: [terse, staring straight in front of him]   
--Wouldn't be the first, won't be the last. 

**Captain**:   
Beren. 

**Beren**: [abashed, bows his head]   
Sorry. 

[to the Elven girl] 

--S'okay. 

[she looks away, still annoyed, and gives a quick glance at the Captain before   
addressing the Steward again:] 

**Teler Maid**:   
He said you did not treat me well when we were both alive. 

[the Steward sighs, nodding] 

You are not angry at that? 

**Steward**: [bemused]   
For what should I be angry? It is no more than the truth. 

**Teler Maid**:   
You were not always so easy with the notion that you might possess them --   
far less to hear any chronicling of your faults. 

**Steward**:   
That too, I cannot deny. 

[pause -- very reluctantly] 

You do ill, Maiwe, to seek to make division between us. 

[she tosses her head and looks away, obstinate] 

**Captain**: [shrewd]   
Do you think it betrayal, this friendship of ours, of yours? 

[she does not answer] 

But that was our friendship's foundation, Murrelet. 

**Teler Maid**: [challenging]   
How? 

**Captain**:   
That he should talk of you to one that knew you well, and speak of how ill   
he'd treated you to one who'd not gainsay him. 

**Teler Maid**: [still very skeptical]   
Why? 

**Captain**: [looking to the Steward]   
--Shall you, or shall I? 

[the other raises his hands in a resigned gesture] 

**Steward**:   
You will enjoy it far more. 

**Captain**: [shaking his head tolerantly]   
--For one who'd have been a bard, you've a curious distaste for telling stories. 

**Steward**:   
Only mine own. 

**Captain**:   
And those you're involved with. 

**Steward**: [with a cool Look]   
That is what I said, is it not? 

**Captain**:   
Not exactly, no. 

**Steward**: [still more acridly]   
On the contrary: if I was involved, even on the periphery, then it is to   
however small a degree my story as well. 

**Captain**:   
Well, by that principle, then everything that ever happened involved you,   
for if you weren't present, someone known to you was, or related to you,   
or it had some consequence direct or indirect upon your life. Therefore   
I maintain my assertion, that you are signally unfond of recounting tales. 

**Steward**: [icy patience]   
You are, as usual, exaggerating grossly again. 

**Captain**: [leaning back against Huan with a smug grin]   
--Never. 

[long pause, during which the Teler girl stares at them in wide-eyed disbelief] 

**Steward**: [sighing heavily]   
Go on, finish the story -- or begin it, indeed. 

**Captain**: [shaking his head]   
Oh no, clearly you'd rather correct my speaking than hear me speak, so I'll   
be silent. 

[pause] 

**Steward**:   
No. No. It is entirely too twisted for you to compel me to beg you to   
humiliate me in public. One must draw the line somewhere. 

[his friend only smiles innocently, and says nothing] 

--My Lady, if you're attending, your help would be most welcome now! 

**Captain**:   
The thing about help is, you don't get to say how it comes, you know. 

**Steward**:   
Shut up. 

**Captain**:   
Absolutely. 

[the other, after a visibly-jaw-grinding moment, raises his hands in capitulation   
and asks:] 

**Steward**:   
Would you then be so kind as to answer this gentle's question that I might be   
spared the painful necessity of doing so myself? --This is utterly wrong. 

**Captain**: [cheerfully]   
All right. 

[he sits up straight again and prepares to go on, while the Steward leans his   
forehead on his hand -- but is interrupted by the Sea-elf, who is too shocked   
almost for words:] 

**Teler Maid**:   
But -- but -- he is not angry with you? 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
That's just their way. They've been doing it since before I was born. 

**Teler Maid**: [skeptical]   
In truth? 

**Beren**:   
Oh yeah. Apparently generations of my relatives on both sides of my family   
used to regularly lose bets to these guys-- 

[gesturing at the rest of the Ten] 

--expecting one of those two was going to haul off and hit the other, and   
they never did, of course. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Bets? 

**Beren**:   
Er, wagers? 

[she shakes her head] 

**Teler Maid**:   
I do not understand the notion. 

**Beren**: [helpless]   
Oh. 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
It's when you don't know what will happen, and so you make a promise with   
someone else that if it falls out one way, you will give them something   
valuable, but if it falls out the other way, they will give you something   
valuable instead. 

**Teler Maid**: [puzzled]   
Why? 

[he shrugs, embarrassed and unable to explain better] 

**Second Guard**:   
It makes things more interesting that way. 

**Teler Maid**:   
I do not see how. 

[uninterested in the subject, to Beren:] 

Where are your kinfolk? 

**Beren**: [taken aback]   
Uh -- dead, mostly. 

**Teler Maid**:   
But they are not here? 

[completely thrown by this question, Beren looks around at the others for help] 

**Captain**:   
Mortals don't abide here, Sea-Mew. But surely that's known to all in the   
Halls, certainly after the Bragollach? 

**Teler Maid**: [shrugging]   
Mayhap. But I have not cared to attend much to all that's said or done herewith. 

[to Beren] 

Then for what are you here? I had thought you must be the first of the Secondborn. 

**Beren**: [starting to get agitated]   
--No. Not by a long shot. 

**Teler Maid**:   
But then why are you yet here? Or do you but ignore my questions as was his wont? 

**Beren**: [increasingly distressed]   
No. I -- I'm not supposed to be here. It's this big mess. 

[on his other side the Warrior grips his shoulder, deeply anxious -- Beren answers   
the unspoken question through set teeth:] 

--I'm okay. Really. 

**Teler Maid**: [total frustration]   
But why--? 

**Captain**: [half plea, half exasperation]   
Maiwe-- 

**Beren**:   
Because I'm trying to stay with my wife. 

**Teler Maid**:   
But-- 

[the realization takes place] 

She is one of us . . . ?!? 

[he nods, once] 

But-- 

[she trails off, her brow furrowing] 

**Beren**: [very dry]   
Believe me, I don't think there's a variant of "What on the gods' green earth   
does she see in you?" that I haven't heard yet. 

**Teler Maid**: [shaking her head   
That was not what I would say, only -- I do not know what I would say. There   
are too many things, I think, that I must know to ask what I must know! 

[she pushes back her hair with both hands and lets them fall in a gesture of   
resigned dismay] 

I did not comprehend that it should be so new upon you, nor that yours should   
such a different matter prove, else I'd not have pressed you so hard for answer.   
I shall not more, for I like it little when others do ask me hard questions I   
would not answer. 

**Beren**:   
Thanks. 

**Teler Maid**: [worried]   
Are you much angered with me? 

**Beren**: [gently]   
No. 

**Teler Maid**:   
I do like you, truly, I do believe. 

[at this admission the Youngest Ranger stops glowering between them; abruptly   
she turns back to her original question:] 

So, then, tell me -- how did it happen that you should happen to talk of   
his unmannerliness to me? 

**Captain**:   
It's a long story-- 

**Fourth Guard**:   
--but not that long, don't worry. 

[Beren gives an exaggerated sigh of relief] 

**Teler Maid**: [affronted]   
You do jeer at me again. 

**Captain**:   
No, we're teasing Beren this time. 

**Fourth Guard**:   
Or he's teasing us. 

**Teler Maid**: [wary]   
Then which, pray tell, is it? 

**Beren**:   
Oh, definitely both. --Probably. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Now you do tease me indeed. 

[she can almost completely keep from smiling] 

**Beren**: [blandly]   
Could be. 

[she makes a dismissive gesture, rolling her eyes, and turns back to the Captain] 

**Teler Maid**:   
Was that before or after he shot you? 

[the Steward grimaces, covering his face] 

**Captain**: [shaking his head]   
He didn't shoot me, Curlew, not by accident or purpose. He simply ignored my   
warning and ventured into a dangerous situation. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Then whence came you to mischance? 

**Captain**:   
We were riding escort, and that's what the job entails, dangerous or not. 

[there are looks exchanged among the Ten] 

**Ranger**: [reluctant]   
Er, sir-- 

**Steward**: [irritable]   
If you insist upon telling it, then tell it properly, at least! 

**Captain**:   
Yes, but by that you mean painting yourself in as bad a light as possible. 

**Steward**:   
I mean leaving out no pertinent detail. 

**Captain**:   
Very well, I'll do my best, though you'll not be pleased of course. --The   
reason we were riding to a parley with minions of the Enemy was that against   
my counsel (but not mine alone, I wasn't as senior at that point, but all of   
us with much field experience thought it a bad idea, not myself merely) he   
had persuaded our lords to permit him to respond, saying that as it was then   
known (or at least rumored through his contacts among House Feanor's following)   
that the ill-fated parley had gone wrong because the Noldor side had gone with   
far more than their promised number in hopes of taking the Enemy's emissaries   
as hostages, and broken faith first, it wasn't certain that negotiations were   
truly out of the question, as a good-faith attempt had never been undertaken. 

**Teler Maid**: [shrewdly]   
But was not Melkor given his freedom in good faith, and did break that faith,   
ere ever you reached the other shore? 

**Captain**:   
Did I say I thought it a good idea? I didn't, many of those who had seen   
combat didn't, none of those who were born in the Old Country, veterans or   
not, thought it so, and Lord Turgon, whose Following had already attracted   
a great many of the locals and thus had direct access to a great deal more   
information unmitigated by protocol, never did agree with it. 

**Beren**: [interrupting, shaking his head]   
I still don't see why they did. I mean, maybe that's hindsight, because of   
us fighting the War for so long and that was early days, but still . . . 

**Captain**: [lifting his hand in a small shrug]   
Well, between the appeal to Family rivalries implicit in the assumption that   
we could do it because we were smarter, as well as more honest -- which   
captured the support of Prince Fingon and their father from the first, before   
any operational details were discussed -- and the moral high ground of trying   
to solve things peacefully as well as honestly, which lured Himself into it   
eventually, we skeptics were outshouted, -- which is an exaggeration, true,   
voices were raised but it wasn't quite shouting. We didn't know then that the   
Enemy had also sent a force vastly over the agreed numbers to the Feanorion's   
parley, but nobody should have been surprised by it. 

**Steward**:   
I was not surprised -- by then. 

**Captain**: [caustic]   
I should hope not. --So he won permission to make the attempt, and the contacts   
were made via their spooks, and a time and place appointed for it, and it was   
my luck to get the assignment, and we went. Now I wasn't happy with it for   
several reasons, one of which was that although the location was open, and the   
country open, there were a lot of rocks and it was far from flat, meaning lots   
of good cover. 

**Teler Maid**:   
--Of what? 

**Captain**:   
Er, hiding places. For the foe. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Oh. Like quail. 

**Captain**:   
Exactly. So there was that -- but then it was to be held in broad daylight,   
which was also in our favour. But the morning started clear and then started   
getting overcast, and I got suspicious about that, and the closer we got the   
more cloudy it got, and then a bit of fog started coming in as well, and I   
started objecting strenuously, only to be told that there was nothing unnatural   
about it, days often got gray as they wore on, and was this part of the country   
not known for its mists? 

**Teler Maid**: [narrowing her eyes]   
I think you are not saying it quite as he did say it. 

**Captain**: [shrugs]   
Near enough. --And that was all true, only I still didn't think it was natural   
at all. And I kept saying so, and we just kept getting closer to the destination,   
and yes we had a large company, all within the agreed on limits, and I just kept   
on thinking to myself, Balrogs. What if the rumours about the Balrogs were right? 

[she shivers] 

**Teler Maid**:   
I have heard of them, even in my solitude there were whispers of them. Are they   
so terrible as all do tell? 

[he nods, very seriously] 

**Captain**:   
And reminding myself that neither of us was a prince of the blood, nor any   
particular prize, didn't help much against all the warnings from my Sindar   
colleagues that the Lord of Fetters didn't care who you were so long as you   
could make weapons for him. 

**Teler Maid**:   
But you know naught of smithing. 

**Captain**:   
But they wouldn't know that, would they? And there's plenty of work that   
requires no particular art, merely coordination and strength. 

"We're all going to end up thralls in Angband, or dead," we all kept thinking,   
though we hoped we were very wrong. And now we're at the edge of the place   
where the parley's to happen, and the visibility's poor, but not terrible,   
and if it were any other business I'd be worrying about rain starting and   
slippery footing for the horses most of all, not an iron collar -- but there's   
no one there in the center of the ring of flat stones that was the designated   
spot, and no one in sight for leagues around, and there was no way beneath   
the hidden Sun I was going to walk us out into that unprotected area. 

**Huan**: [not moving]   
[low, but rising, growls] 

**Captain**:   
We were about three bowshots from it, and I told my riding to stay put in   
the gorge we'd just come through, that I wasn't going to budge until we saw   
some signs of a good-faith effort to meet us, namely some visible enemies   
coming to parley, we were going to wait, watch, and be late if we must, but   
we were not going to put ourselves in the open. 

[he reaches back & pokes the quiescent Hound] 

Stop growling, you. 

[Huan gives a penitent tail-wag-in-place] 

And -- since he wants me to tell you it as if he were telling it, there was   
a lot of unpleasant conversation at that, and I wouldn't let him embarrass   
me into going through with it, and he wouldn't agree that I knew what I was   
talking about with regard to the number of troops that could be hidden in   
this apparently open countryside, so he says to me, "Do as you please, and   
I will do my duty," and goes to ride out there alone. 

**Ranger**:   
We couldn't tell if you were insanely brave, or just insanely overconfident. 

**Steward**: [snorting]   
Neither. I was petrified. But I did believe in the mission. 

**Captain**:   
So obviously I had to go along (though I really wanted to take the flat   
of my sword to his skull and drag him back home regardless) with strictest   
orders to my company to stay put, regardless, and dire threats of what would   
happen if they didn't -- and all of us so rattled it didn't occur to any of   
them to ask me how I'd manage that if things went badly. And we get halfway   
there, and nothing stirs, not even the wind, and you could not have offered   
me a Silmaril to keep going, and he just keeps steadily on at a walk, and   
we're about three-fourths of the way there, and something spooked my horse   
-- but it might only have been me, so I circled about a little-- 

[making a descriptive gesture with his hand] 

--trying to catch another glimpse of what it was that I'd thought I'd seen,   
and apparently that worried our adversaries into thinking we were about to   
give up and go. So someone from their side lets slip a little too early,   
from behind one of those scattered boulders on the heath, and that's how   
I got shot. Our armour wasn't so good then, before we purchased proper mail   
from the Dwarves and learned the art of making it ourselves. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Where? --Nor do you say, "in Beleriand"--! 

[he indicates a point on his upper arm] 

**Ranger**: [with exasperation]   
Sir-- 

**Captain**: [offhand]   
Might have been a little higher-- 

[the Steward elbows him] 

Oh, well, that too, -- but it was the other side. 

**Teler Maid**:   
How many arrows by which you were struck? 

[she is nervously twisting one of her braids tightly around her fingers, not   
even realizing that she is doing so] 

**Captain**:   
Just one. 

[she frowns] 

**Teler Maid**:   
Then how-- 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
--Nailed right through to his ribcage and into his lung. That's what I heard,   
at least. I wasn't there for it, as I wasn't yet born. 

[she gasps, wide-eyed, and then turns an absolutely furious glare upon the Steward] 

**Steward**:   
I had seen death, and I had seen those slain, and even wounded, but only   
after significant time and sufficient for medical attention to have begun   
-- never anyone so gravely injured and yet living, or halfway. Not at that   
early point. 

**Captain**: [to the Sea-elf, trying to reassure her]   
It was not that bad. 

**Steward**: [grimly]   
It was very bad, and would have been so had not the arrow been poisoned   
as well. 

**Captain**:   
I thought I was telling this story. 

[silence] 

It could have been much worse. 

**Ranger**: [quiet]   
It was bad, sir. 

**Captain**: [resigned]   
I didn't say it wasn't. But at least -- no, wait, I can't say that, can I?   
At any rate, we were able to get back to the others where I'd left them, and   
there were some sharp words, but quick, for the need to hasten past our foe's   
reach, and by the time we reached a distance where we might alight in some   
surety, if briefly, the poison had taken strong hold, and our company healer   
didn't want to draw the arrow, but didn't dare leave it in for the sort of   
riding we had yet to accomplish, and I was starting to lose my grip on reality,   
and so were my companions, with less excuse, and there were some very harsh   
words given to, though not exchanged with, our Herald. 

**Steward**:   
--Deservedly. 

**Captain**:   
And yet they're not here, with one exception. 

**Steward**:   
Many died before at the Bragollach, or in the retreating actions of the   
subsequent years. 

**Captain**: [looking at him directly]   
And I repeat: with one exception, those Rangers who rode at my command in   
that hour are not here, nor those who fell beside us in the Fen. And yet   
you are. 

[the Steward looks away. Simultaneously asking:] 

**Beren**:   
**Teler Maid**:   
Why not? 

[the two Rangers look downcast and upset, but say nothing] 

**Captain**:   
It's -- complicated. We -- as has been said before, are a disreputable and   
disorderly lot -- well, you've seen it, Beren, though Maiwe's only heard us   
before, and not everyone is quite comfortable associating with us. Or at   
least, not on any sort of formal and regular basis. 

**Beren**:   
But you said people follow him anyway. Like with the battles. 

**Captain**:   
Yes, but it's all most informal, and . . . 

**Warrior**: [filling in]   
We got into trouble for it. Some people aren't very happy at the idea of   
having the Powers possibly angry at them again. 

[aside] 

--Like me. 

**Captain**:   
There's a sort of unofficial official recognition which is quickly disavowable,   
and tends to alternate between unthinking enthusiasm for projects -- no, not   
us, I meant with the reenactments -- and a wait-and-see-if-They-toss-him-or-   
them-in-the-non-existent-dungeons, first, attitude. Essentially folk ask him   
for advice and help, and he makes recommendations and doesn't ask anyone else   
for anything now. Except us. 

**Teler Maid**:   
I do not quite follow you. 

**Beren**: [flatly]   
I do. Sounds like a repeat of Nargothrond, again. 

**Captain**:   
Not quite that bad. 

**Beren**:   
Doesn't he mind? 

[pause] 

**Captain**:   
I'm not the one to speak on that. 

**Steward**:   
Nor I. 

**Beren**: [grim]   
That's why he got so upset when he thought I turned on him. 

[pause] 

That's why you're all here tearing up the gods' living room on my behalf. 

[to the Sea-elf] 

Sorry, I didn't mean to talk around you. Long story. 

**First Guard**: [reassuring]   
We'll not desert him, Beren. 

**Teler Maid**:   
I -- would almost hazard you mean that some have forsaken Lord   
Ingold . . . ? 

**Beren**:   
You'd be right. 

**Captain**:   
But it is, as Beren says, a long story, and another -- or at least a lot   
later in this one. --Which I am going to resume telling, in the absence of   
objection. I was not doing terribly well at that point, but it was crucial   
to keep on as speedily as possible, not simply for my sake but because of   
the likelihood of pursuit. They kept changing me from rider to rider for   
the horses' endurance, and despite the unwillingness of my followers for   
reasons of sentiment, even to Edrahil, for reason of principle. And he   
kept saying something, and I assumed he was trying to apologize, and wanted   
to tell him to just stop, dammit, but that would have taken too much breath.   
And then I realize that what he's actually doing is the same thing our   
medic did, as best he can manage, having memorized, or nearly, his words   
when they were patching me up. And at that point I stopped worrying, for   
I knew things would be all right. 

**Teler Maid**:   
But -- might you not have died despite, before ever you might be brought   
back to safe haven? 

**Captain**:   
Oh, yes. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Then why say you 'twould be well? 

**Steward**: [quietly]   
Because he is mad. 

[she gives him an afrronted glance] 

**Captain**:   
Because I knew from that that he was recollected enough to withstand panic   
and other disorder and to make sure that all the rest would make it home   
safely, whether I returned there or here. And I was right. There was a motion   
to cut directly over some rough country that gave a more direct route to   
Fingolfin's command post-- 

[to Beren] 

--not the one you're thinking of, the castle at Eithel wasn't built at that   
point -- and strongly urged in the interest of time -- and does he give in?   
Not at all. 

"We are not crows," he retorts, and refuses on the grounds that none of them   
knew the ground, and if it were passable, or for horses, or for a casualty,   
and insists upon the longer, surer route, and carries them all by force of   
cold reason, despite the fact that not one of them but wished it were he   
bleeding there, not me. 

**Steward**: [irritably]   
Have you any idea how many times you've changed tense already? 

**Captain**:   
Yes, you get more tense each time. You'll not change the subject that way.   
--So instead he sends one warrior by that shortcut, and another to go   
breakneck (only hopefully not) ahead of us, with my horse for a spare,   
and the rest together to bring me back as quick as they might without   
killing me altogether, while whichever messenger might reach the encampment   
first should bring a company of medical personnel to intercept us along   
this our known route. Exactly what I would have done, had matters been the   
other way round. Though I only learnt of this after the fact, not being   
fully-conscious at the time. And when that happens, and it's not only those   
he requested but Himself as well, trying to keep me alive, he says nothing   
whatsoever about the mission nor his own actions, but only stays out of   
the way until they dared to take me back home at last. 

**Teler Maid**: [extremely grim]   
What said you, to account for your wound then? 

**Captain**:   
I was still unconscious. They might have said a lot, but oddly enough they   
didn't -- for some reason they elected to give him benefit of honour, to see   
what he would say before making their report. 

[the Noldor Ranger smiles wryly] 

And what he said was essentially what I have said, though with longer words   
and more of 'em. No attempt to justify himself, nor discredit any claim they   
might make, by reason of their having been back of our position, nor to assign   
any of it to me. He made a full admission to the Princes, not in private mind   
you, but before all of the folk of Finarfin and Fingolfin as well, and submitted   
himself to whatever judgment our lord and his siblings should come to, but first,   
meanwhile, he said, he intended to learn what he might of healing for himself,   
that never should he be in such a situation again and of so little use. --And   
so, of course, they gave him more jobs like that, and harder, but didn't manage   
to get rid of him that way. 

[longish pause -- the Sea-elf glowers at the subject of the story, clearly not   
as amused as the teller] 

**Teler Maid**:   
Why do you not speak, sir? Surely you are not content with a tale told by   
another not you, still less when it is of yourself it does tell! 

**Steward**: [shaking his head]   
The trouble is this -- shall I agree, and seem more arrogant yet? or correct,   
and seem a most ungracious ingrate? Better to be silent, and leave the matter   
in some doubt at least. 

[several of the Guards snicker at this, and she gives them a sharp Look, and then   
a quick glance back, her expression becoming more thoughtful] 

**Teler Maid**: [still taunting, though]   
What would you correct, then, my lord? 

**Steward**:   
It was made implicit, though not said outright, that I added healer to the   
chronicle of my accomplishments -- when, in fact, I merely completed a   
course of studies in that field. 

**Teler Maid**:   
And is that not the same thing -- for you? 

**Steward**:   
My teacher and the chief of that avocation thought not so. She made -- if   
you will pardon the unseemly-yet-appropriate human levity, gentles all --   
no bones about my lack of anything remotely akin to the proper empathic   
spirit required of a Healer. "Perfect pitch is necessary but far from   
sufficient," and "You can't improvise to save your life, can you? -- so   
how do you expect to save anyone else's?" were phrases I very swiftly   
tired of hearing. 

[the Sea-elf giggles -- then checks abruptly and gives him a wary glance,   
continuing to scrutinize his expression covertly] 

**Soldier**:   
Yes, but she didn't forbid you from attempting, Sir. 

**Steward**:   
With the proviso there was none else certified at hand. "You probably won't   
kill anyone who wouldn't die otherwise," is hardly endorsement. 

**Soldier**: [sighing]   
It could have been worse, though -- back after the Glorious Battle, when there   
was such a rush to become Healers among people who'd never have thought of it   
otherwise, she told my lady to stick with the books, for at least parchment   
and quills were dead and couldn't be hurt. 

[the Steward winces, then looks up as if struck by a sudden thought] 

**Steward**:   
Wait -- if I remember correctly, there was a request for a new lighting   
arrangement and several pieces of furniture were commissioned for your   
apartments at about that time. Not coincidence, I gather? 

**Soldier**:   
Well, after we cleaned up what was left of the desk she did admit that a   
temper which built up like a blast in a kiln for a fortnight after being   
set down fairly, probably wasn't suited for medical work. There's patience   
and there's patience, love, I told her, and they're both important, but   
you've the sort that can spend months hunting down references or laying   
down a page of colors in lines as thin as thread, not the sort that takes   
being thwarted well, or criticism as other than insult. 

**Steward**:   
That, I have not either. 

**Soldier**:   
True, sir -- but you just get more and more sarcastic, instead of breaking   
things. 

**Steward**:   
Nor should that be most welcome at an invalid's bedside. 

**Captain**:   
Yes, but that only bothers you because you're an insane perfectionist. If all   
you're doing is patching someone up so they'll last long enough to get into   
competent hands, calling them six times a fool the whiles hasn't any detrimental   
effect that I've ever noticed. Makes 'em more determined to prove you wrong   
by surviving -- right? 

[at this the Noldor Ranger, who has been trying to look oblivious with decreasing   
success, ducks his head with a chagrinned expression] 

**Ranger**:   
That was a calculated risk, Sir, only -- I miscalculated. You didn't have   
to say it shouldn't make a damned bit of difference, since I had rocks for   
brains anyway. 

**Captain**:   
Yes, but you never assumed after that that an enemy without a bow wasn't a   
danger from a distance -- and made damned sure that everyone else took the   
danger of slingstones seriously, too. And being angry at me kept you awake   
despite your concussion until we were able to get you to a fort and a bone-   
drill within safe walls. 

[his subordinate gives him a rueful smile while Beren supresses the sort of   
expression most people evince at the thought of trephanation] 

Could have been worse, though -- you remember that report about the accident   
in the storage caves, right? 

**Ranger**: [grinning]   
The one where a bystander was quoted as saying that no one was ever going to   
ignore safety precautions down there again, not so much for fear of severing   
an artery, as for dread of learning yet more formulations of "I told you so,   
did I not?" 

**Steward**: [with a slight edge]   
I -- was panicked, as I'd never had call to employ that training ere then,   
far less upon something so grave as that! 

**Captain**: [ignoring him]   
That's the one -- my personal favorite was, "However, given precedent, I   
am inexorably forced to the conclusion that the majority of you will adjudge   
it to have been a random occurrence, and not until as many times have passed   
will you concede that indeed my reasoned apprehensions were well-founded --   
but no matter, for it's clear as well that we've no shortage of overconfident   
idiots within the City, and can well-stand attrition of the same." 

[the Steward leans back against Huan, looking up at the ceiling with a resigned   
expression] 

--But I don't remember any sarcasm in word or tone when I was delirious with   
poison, or after when I woke at last without the taste of my own blood in my   
throat, and found a solemn and uncommonly quiet still-chief Counsellor waiting   
to beg my forgiveness -- and give me report of the cygnets I'd been watching   
all through the season, though the thought of him crawling through cattails to   
view the nest was so strange I admit I laughed, to my immediate regret . . . 

[rubbing at his side with a grimace of recollection] 

. . . and tell me that my fear, that I had not spoken aloud to him, nor any   
Healer betrayed to him, was groundless -- that he had Seen me seeing them in   
flight, before the bulrushes should have blown to seed, and so I knew that I   
should not remain purblind, nor long, which not even the King had been able   
to assure me of. --A great deal of awkwardness, and much formality, and more   
embarassment -- but nothing of mockery whatsoever. 

**Steward**: [distantly]   
You forgot confusion, at being thanked and commended for bringing all home   
without further casualty or loss. I thought you were still delirious. Or   
that your vision was so affected you'd mistaken me for one of your officers. 

[the Captain only smiles] 

**Teler Maid**: [with a doubtful expression]   
And that is the way of it that you did find friendship? 

**Captain**:   
No, far from it. Courtesy, yes -- courtesy, concern, deference, exaggerated   
deference even, but these things do not add up to the other. We were not   
friends until after our first visit to Doriath. 

**Teler Maid**:   
I think I have overheard that name upon a time or three. There are mountains   
there, are there not? 

**Beren**:   
There's no mountains in Doriath. I think you're thinking of my country,   
Dorthonion. 

**Teler Maid**: [frowning]   
That sounds not right either. Is that where the horses are? 

**Youngest Ranger**: [knowingly]   
Ah, you mean Dor-lomin. That's surrounded by mountains. I've been there. 

[The Sea-elf looks over challengingly towards the Steward] 

**Teler Maid**:   
Did you not know that, my lord? 

**Steward**: [after visible hesitation]   
--Indeed I did, Maiwe. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Then for what did you not correct me? 

**Steward**:   
There was no need for me to speak. The children had answered you well. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Hah, then, my questions are but fit for children, do you say? 

**Steward**:   
No. Only that the younger were swifter to speak. And that is often true,   
in many things, but I mean no slight to you or any other. 

**Teler Maid**:   
But I think-- 

**Captain**: [interrupting]   
Did you want to hear the rest of it, or do you just want to fight, hm? 

[she scowls, but stops her needling for the moment] 

All right, then. --We'd gone to the domain of His Majesty's kindred -- though   
we hadn't acclaimed him as King yet, that happened after, when we set up our   
own capital at Nargothrond -- and now that we were settled and the border   
growing ever more secure that all of the Noldor Houses were cooperating-- 

**Teler Maid**: [interrupting, grim]   
I am still very much angered concerning that. 

**Captain**: [evenly]   
I know, and if you cut me off one more time to say that again, I am going   
to start calling you "Rail," Sea-Mew. Trust me, we all know you're not happy   
with us for making peace with the Feanorians, and neither was the lord of the   
realm we were about to visit, when he found out either. But you're never going   
to hear the end of this if you don't stop expressing your feelings on the   
subject every time it comes up. 

**Teler Maid**: [scowling]   
You-- 

[stopping abruptly, disgruntled; she looks down, letting her hair fall in front   
of her face] 

**Captain**:   
What? 

**Teler Maid**: [through her teeth]   
I would have said you do not like me longer, but I cannot. 

**Captain**:   
To borrow another mortal saying, --no kidding. --Because the northern lands   
were growing safer, we thought it a good time to go and pay a visit of state   
to the Lord and Lady of Doriath, and so we went to pay our respects and make   
offers of such alliance as they might wish, and to see the legendary Thousand   
Caves and their still more legendary rulers. We rode through the forest --   
but that word doesn't mean anything like the same, here -- those trees were   
older than any that ever were in Valinor, and taller than any but the Two   
themselves, and so powerful that all of us, even those who love the woods,   
were daunted entering their shade. 

**Teler Maid**: [disbelieving]   
Even you? 

**Captain**:   
Even me. And then we came to the main gate of Menegroth, where Queen Melian   
with her nightingales on her shoulders and King Elu Greycloak were waiting as   
tall and fair as trees themselves to greet their grand-niece and nephews, and-- 

**Teler Maid**:   
Who?!? 

[before he can answer] 

You do not mean kin in the sense that we are kin, but kin? 

**Captain**: [struggling to keep a straight face]   
That sounds like something Beren would say. Ah, --yes. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Do not foible with words! What is this, that the rulers of the Old Country   
are parents' siblings to any of the Noldor, when they must be of the same   
kindred as him-- 

[gesturing to the Youngest Ranger] 

--unless-- 

[she frowns, looking around at them] 

--you do not -- surely you mean not -- but how might it happen? -- but-- 

[pulling herself together] 

It can only be that you do mean that my lady's uncle is yet well and free and   
does rule and they but call him by another name! Am I not right? 

**Captain**:   
Of course. 

**Teler Maid**:   
What befell Lord Elwe that he came not hence? 

**Fourth Guard**: [mischievously]   
That's a long st-- 

[his immediate neighbors suppress him quickly] 

**Captain**:   
Short version is, he ran into the Lady Melian and that's why she didn't   
come back either. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Who is she? 

**Captain**:   
Do you recall the stories about the Maia who went missing in the Old Country   
whilst exploring there? 

**Teler Maid**:   
I remember some such tale. --Not well. 

**Captain**:   
That's her. So there was this incredible reunion-- 

[as the Steward shakes his head] 

--well, I'm not sure what else to call it, Edrahil, what would you recommend? 

**Beren**:   
We used to call them family reunions even if not everybody there had ever met   
everyone else because of not being born in the same place. 

**Captain**:   
Thank you. --And welcomes, and introductions, and talk, and Themselves brought   
out the gifts they'd made for their aunt and uncle, and there were thanks, and   
more talk, and then we were most graciously invited inside, which we'd all been   
most anxious to see, having heard so much in the way of rumour, and not having   
believed half of it as to what the Thousand Caves were really like. I'll tell   
you all about it in detail some other time, Maiwe, since everyone else already   
knows, and I could spend months and not be anywhere near through. 

[Beren makes a quiet exclamation of disappointment] 

But you've been there, lad. 

**Beren**:   
Not like you all have. The first time was rushed and all I saw was the throne   
room and a back staircase and the doors on my way out, and the second time was   
longer but not all that much and even crazier. And-- 

[he breaks off] 

**Teler Maid**: [curious]   
What? 

**Beren**: [with a touch of reluctance]   
Even if I had been there like them, not the way it was, it would have been   
different. I wouldn't have seen it the way they did, or been treated the same,   
even if I was welcome. I would have always been a stranger, like at Nargothrond,   
because I was mortal. 

[beside him the Warrior touches his arm in an apologetic gesture] 

**Youngest Ranger**: [troubled]   
But your lady could tell you. 

**Beren**: [wistful]   
Yeah, but she's so mad at them all that it isn't easy to get her to talk about   
it, because when she does, even when she isn't starting out to yell about them,   
that's what ends up happening, and everything she does talk about she ends up   
tearing into like you wouldn't believe. 

[running his hand through his hair in a frustrated gesture] 

I mean, I know it can't have been all bad for a thousand-whatever years, that   
she had to love it there or she wouldn't be so hellishly angry at her parents,   
relatives, and all the court and the entire population of Doriath for treating   
her that way, but it's like -- I -- I try to remind her about how she was before,   
when we were together in Neldoreth the first time, and it's like that doesn't   
even exist for her any more. I don't know what would have happened if I hadn't   
gotten killed, if we'd stayed there. She didn't actually ever say that they   
deserved having the Wolf break in on them, but -- I could tell -- it was like   
a thunderhead overhead, it was gonna break out sometime. Maybe she did say it   
to Melian, quietly, I don't know. 

[he shakes his head] 

But, you know, with nobody paying attention to her, how was it gonna work if   
she came back to be Lady there? I guess I didn't think about that so much when   
I just wanted her to be safe. I don't guess that her father thought about that   
much either. Just wanting her back, but when she was, it wasn't her. --But   
Doriath was different too, because of what they did to her. 

[increasingly upset] 

She just kept saying one thing after another after another, and I think he   
would have given her his crown if that would have made her happy again, like   
she was before. But that couldn't happen, because of me. --She doesn't want   
to hear that from me, either. 

**Teler Maid**: [blinking]   
The daughter of the King of Doriath that is my lady Earwen's uncle? 

[the Ten nod or murmur assent, though their attention is on Beren] 

**Beren**: [making it be true by sheer force of will]   
I'm okay. 

[he pulls himself together, though his jaw is set rather hard] 

**Teler Maid**: [astounded]   
But -- your wife is my King's niece? Lord Olwe's long-lost brother is your   
lady's father? 

[Beren nods] 

What mad story is this? 

**Beren**:   
No, it's the truth. 

[pause] 

**Teler Maid**:   
I think we mean not the same by it. How did you come to find lost Lord Elwe,   
and what of his family and yours? That is what I did mean. 

**Beren**:   
Oh. --That's really a long, long story. I'm not sure I can explain it at all,   
let alone well, and they can do it better, but probably, and I'm not joking   
around this time, guys, you should talk to H-- Finrod about it, because he   
was around for more of it, he knows everybody, and he studies this kind of   
stuff. Um, I mean, Lord Ingold to you. 

**Teler Maid**: [sharply]   
I know that is also his name. I call him Ingold because that is what we   
called him mostly. Do you not think that I am ignorant, too! 

**Beren**:   
Sorry. I didn't mean that, either. I just get confused by it still, so I didn't   
want to confuse you. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Ah. 

[reluctantly] 

I thank you, then. I will do so, when he does come back. 

**Captain**:   
All clear on that, now? We were in Doriath, at the Thousand Caves, which   
were fully as spectacular as local legend had painted them and more so,   
somewhat to the -- I guess you'd say chagrin, though mostly awe -- of us   
all, who'd assumed that tales of how much finer it was than anything we'd   
set up there were partly local patriotism and partly due to the fact that   
we still had fairly simple encampments at that date, visiting with King   
Olwe's brother and his Lady, and their daughter, who's now married to Lord   
Beren here, but wasn't then, since neither he nor any of his people had   
been born then. 

[to the Youngest Ranger before he has a chance to interrupt] 

--Nor you neither, lad, since you weren't born yet either, though I think   
you said you'd a cousin there. 

[the junior officer nods agreement] 

**Teler Maid**: [to the Sindarin Ranger, very seriously]   
Was that the one with the giant fish? 

**Youngest Ranger**: [just as (un)seriously]   
No, that was Beren's, I think. 

**Captain**:   
--Ahem. Anyway, we were there for a long time, being feasted and furrowed   
for information and gawked at by everyone who'd not ventured out to meet us   
before, and everyone who had as well, I think, and if you think you were   
the object of undue curiosity in Nargothrond, lad, take my word (though it's   
little consolation) that it can be far worse. Though of course the most   
attention was upon our lord and his brothers and Lady Galadriel-- 

**Teler Maid**: [interrupting]   
Who is that? 

[confused pause] 

**Captain**:   
Ah. Right. That's the name that their sister goes by these days. It was a   
present from her husband, means the same as her old nickname, though Himself   
will tell you it means "Tree-girl" instead, just to make her laugh. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Lady Nerwen is married too? To whom? 

[the Captain and others look a bit taken aback at how much catching-up there is   
to do; before they can answer:] 

**Beren**:   
Oh, I know this one. The King's sister's husband is a lord of Tinuviel's   
kindred named Celeborn -- only I haven't met them, just heard about them   
-- on her father's side. Er, my wife's father's side, if that wasn't clear. 

**Teler Maid**:   
He is one of us as well? 

[she is both surprised and triumphant, and gives the Steward a keen look before   
asking them] 

What is he like? 

**Captain**: [frowning]   
Serious, fair-minded, thinks things through carefully before acting and   
then acts decisively, very polite and rules his temper well -- though he   
does have one, make no mistake. --A lot like their father, in fact, were   
Lord Finarfin to become a warrior and commander of warriors, I'd hazard. 

[he looks at the Steward for confirmation of his assessment; his friend nods   
agreement.] 

**Teler Maid**: [uncertainly]   
They are not here, are they? 

**Steward**: [fervent]   
--Stars, no. Not everything has gone as wrong as might. 

**Captain**:   
--What did I just hear you say? 

[this gets him a very cool Look] 

**Steward**:   
That there are always exceptions, and that nothing can be relied upon to   
be constant. 

**Captain**:   
Damn, I thought I'd caught you. Good recovery. 

**Teler Maid**: [rubbing her temples]   
So -- if it is so that none but my lady's youngest children do remain in   
the Old Country, which of them does lead? For you said that it was Lord   
Ingold and Lady Nerwen of the House that were most foremost to arrange   
the efforts of the March -- then now he is dead does it fall to her last   
brother, or to her and her lord, to rule your folk in that City you have   
spoken of to me? 

**Captain**:   
Well, in fact they're not there any longer. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Then where? 

[impatient] 

Must I ask and ask and ask, for every least thing? 

**Captain**: [a little tired-sounding]   
I'm sorry. I -- was thinking about how much telling this is going to take   
for all the relatives. It's a bit daunting. A lot daunting, really. --They   
took off a little while back on their own with some like-minded sorts and   
struck out over the Blue Mountains to explore and set up on their own and   
hadn't got back yet when the War hotted up. 

**Beren**:   
You call it a little while. I wouldn't. 

**Captain**: [shrugs]   
I guess it was a while ago, at that. 

**Teler Maid**:   
I have missed a great deal of news. 

**Captain**:   
Yes, you have. So one night there was a grand celebration, partly for the   
Family, partly because it was the New Moon, and partly just because. And   
there was every sort of music and dance and diverse arts-- 

**Beren**: [interrupting]   
--Magic, right? 

[the Sea-elf looks over at him curiously, sharing the strange look among his   
neighbors as the Youngest Ranger and the Warrior simultaneously elbow him in   
the ribs to make him shut up] 

**Captain**:   
That too, but also contests of skill and strength with weapons and other   
sport -- and the speaking of tales and verses besides, and we were all   
having the grandest time of it, being at home as it were with all the   
advantages of being someplace else -- in other words, somebody else   
looking after all the things that have to be done, plus it's unexpected   
and charming because it's all strange, but not so very -- and then I   
noticed that someone wasn't taking part--   


--and then I noticed him go skulking   
off along to the edges of the crowd, in spite of the fact that Master   
Daeron was playing then for the Queen herself to dance, and even a stone   
would not have been so deaf and blind as to turn away from that. So I   
followed him from the clearing before the Green Throne at Hirilorn's feet   
-- I'm putting that in for Beren, Maiwe: it's a huge tree beside the City   
of the Lord and Lady of Doriath, where they hold court, betimes, I'm not   
trying to confuse you with strange names, all right? 

[she nods] 

And to my great surprise I saw him go off to the shadows of the wood and   
stand there glaring at his harp, and brace it in his arms as though he were   
going to break it, and I deliberated calling to him, but then he changed   
his mind before my eyes, and went back to the gathering and looked about   
as though seeking out someone in particular, and then goes up to a villager   
that to my knowledge had never spoken with any of us before, of a party come   
from great distance to the celebration, and offers the harp to the stranger   
as a gift. And then -- still unawares that I was shadowing him -- he left   
the clearing again and returned to the Thousand Caves, quite unobserved by   
any other, all being under Queen Melian's spell and the spell of the flute-- 

[to Beren] 

--even us, though not quite the same way it happened to you -- and I, being   
much troubled by what I had seen, followed. He wasn't hard to find -- there   
was no one else in the place, everyone was out on the greensward enjoying   
themselves; I found him in the grove the Queen had made, sitting by the   
fountains looking at the water and not seeing it, so to speak. 

"What -- is -- wrong?" I asked him, like that, as forcefully as I might.   
And he looks up at me, not quite seeing me either, and answers, "I am here,   
and she is there, and the Ocean is between us." And I said, "Oh," not   
expecting that at all, and not knowing anything else to say, and he pulls   
himself together a bit, and returns, "Or were you asking something else   
entirely, sir?" 

[he glances at the Steward, who is sitting with his chin resting on his forearms,   
looking off with a resigned expression] 

**Teler Maid**:   
What said you? 

**Captain**:   
Nothing. I had, with my usual and quite mundane foresight taken care to   
provide myself with a pitcher of wine and two cups, and also a few sundry   
small edibles from the varied spread outside-- 

**Youngest Ranger**: [aside at large]   
I heard people wondered if a bear had visited the tables. 

**Captain**:   
It was not that much, Lieutenant, and I was merely implementing the lesson   
you shouldn't have forgotten, that one secures resources as they are available. 

**Beren**:   
I think those rule each other out, actually. 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Which was it, then, sir? 

**Ranger**: [aside, but not discreet]   
--Bear. 

[the Steward gives a quick nod] 

**Captain**: [ignoring them]   
So I poured him a cup, and while I was unrolling the cloth -- and it wasn't   
a tablecloth, whatever these louts tell you -- he's holding the wine, looking   
at it, and at me, wondering when the joke was going to happen, and I poured   
myself a cupful, and he kept on watching me, very wary, and I, in a stroke   
of, if you will allow me to say so, brilliance, made the toast to absent   
friends. And he whispered, "Yes," and drank with me, and so we had our own   
little feast on the steps of the dais, under the golden trees, and we talked.   
And listened. And I learned that the noble Edrahil, esteemed counselor of   
the eldest of Finarfin's scions and lord entrusted with the most vital matters   
of our lord's household, and accounted of no small skill with word or note   
either, considered himself a failure and a squanderer of his time and a   
miserable excuse for an Elf besides. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Indeed. 

**Captain**: [disregarding her cold tone]   
Indeed. For, so he said, he had thought himself excellent, and although he   
was willing to concede the Vanyar our superiors in song (though naught else   
of skill) and to be accounted in the second rank after the children of the   
King (meaning in this case our first lord, Finwe) 

[with a quick glance to make sure Beren understands] 

--he had never been content to allow any other might be his better, nor rival,   
and yet here so many were his equals, and it was easy as breathing to them,   
for all that they had not the same scholarship here (meaning there) and he   
could not dismiss it as but a rustic sort of music, and of a different kind,   
and hence no competition, for he'd heard compositions of the greatest, like   
Elemmire, learned in a few hearings by the Doriathrin and changed into their   
own modes and sung back with the most elaborate variations. And that was many,   
not a few, before ever he should speak of Daeron, whose mastery he had no more   
hope of equaling than he had of the Powers' -- 

[to the Steward] 

See? I can do your style as well as your tone of voice pretty fairly, hm? 

**Steward**: [grimly]   
You're just remembering it. 

**Captain**:   
Not just. There's skill and effort involved. 

[to the Sea-elf] 

And I couldn't figure out what this had to do with you, and I wanted to say   
something about him conceding that the gods could manage to do something   
better than us, but I restrained myself. 

[raising an eyebrow, as the Steward visibly restrains from speaking in turn] 

--Of course, my mouth was full at the time. And anyway he soon cleared that   
up talking about how he'd constantly made light of your pipe-playing and your   
people's songs and how everyone and everything here made him remember you,   
in spite of the fact that the cultures were so different, and he had been so   
thoughtless not to realize that his words to you would have had the same effect   
on you as Lord Enedir's telling him to stop wasting his time on that for which   
he was not suited to him, only worse, for his family thought him much talented   
in painting and would have had him study that, but he had never praised any   
deed of yours at all. 

[she snorts and tosses her head at his words, her eyes very hard at the memories,   
as he continues in the same mild nostalgic vein] 

I remember being most confused over his berating himself for his cruelty   
in deriding you as childish for skipping, and climbing in trees, and not   
understanding what that had to do with the Moon Feast at all, though I   
agreed as I had all along. 

[looking meaningfully at Beren] 

And he says that who was he, after all, to declare what was childish, and   
what was unfitting of the Eldar, when our lord's eldest cousin and the King   
of this land's own daughter had been up in an elm the day we arrived, and   
but a day before had enlisted all that she could find unoccupied into a   
complicated game of tag that involved, among other steps, skipping. And   
he'd attempted to explain it as having some deep metaphysical and ritual   
significance, but when he inquired of Lady Galadriel-also-known-as-Nerwen   
what it meant, she answered, after she'd got her breath back, that it but   
made it much funnier, to have to obey the rules of the dance, even if it   
makes the game harder. 

**Teler Maid**: [bemused]   
Skipping. --Lady Nerwen. 

[he nods seriously, while she shakes her head in amazement] 

Not even your sister skipped with me, though she never chid me for it, nor   
for scaling the bannisters as though 'twas a hawser. --Nor did you. 

**Captain**:   
Well, she would have if she'd been there. Joined her lady in the game, I   
mean. Princess Luthien's hard to argue with, as Barahirion could tell you. 

[Beren hides a grin] 

Skipping -- backwards -- and with her hair falling down all over the place   
like Treelight, and laughing "like a loon"-- 

[he nudges his companion, who affects indifference] 

--till she could hardly stand up, by the end of it, and the rest of us   
not much better. Though I did notice that she wasn't waving off offers   
of a supporting arm as we would all expect, when it was young Celeborn   
doing the offering. And nobody saying anything scathing about being silly,   
or shouldn't we be less frivolous, or was this any way for adult Eldar   
to behave? 

[to Beren] 

I think that the real blow was when your lady's parents lamented the fact   
that they'd been too busy with organizing the feast to join in. 

[Beren joins the Teler girl in looking both amused and half-disbelieving] 

And he kept on explaining about how he realized now how wrong he had been   
to disdain you, Sanderling, and I kept on agreeing with him all the while,   
and yet he didn't once get angry with me for presuming to do so. --So, did   
I tell it to your satisfaction? 

**Steward**:   
No. 

**Captain**: [dismissive]   
What have I left out? 

**Steward**:   
That you spent the whole of the time listening to my complaints without   
complaint of your own, when you had far rather been at the dancing and   
under the stars and moon, nor made reproach for having missed it, but   
only to jest about having failed to secure enough wine for such a thirsty   
night of talk when the flagon ran dry. 

**Captain**:   
Well, it wasn't all on one side, I wasn't just commiserating with you --   
I do recall ranting as well about the fact everything was strange and much   
of what I knew didn't apply to animals in this continent (which is to say,   
that continent) and that I'd tell people to do things and they'd listen and   
go off and do something else altogether, and so on. 

**Steward**:   
Truly, I did not notice-- 

**Teler Maid**: [breaking in]   
But of course you did not notice -- for when did another's concerns ever   
concern you? Nay, Edrahil, you need not even say so much! 

**Captain**: [mildly]   
I think he meant it as a common courtesy, Curlew. 

**Steward**:   
Nonetheless it was equally the truth -- against my own cares I fear yours   
mattered not, so that you might have complained of mutinies or plagues of   
vampire bats and I'd not have noticed while I bemoaned my state. Moreover   
you have omitted what followed -- how upon the morrow I was so dismayed to   
have disclosed my cares and uncertainties to your hearing that I avoided   
you for days thereafter, all the while in a fear that you'd make merry over   
my admissions among your friends, or presume upon me in public fellowship   
before all, and spent the whiles in an agony of regret and shame over my   
weakness. 

**Captain**: [bland]   
The whiles I thought it was because I'd tried to convince you to join a   
proposed excursion to the southern marches and then perhaps if the weather   
held good out to the site of the First Battle. --I still think it would   
have cheered you up. 

**Steward**: [snorting]   
To be trapped with you, Captain Beleg, the Lady Galadriel and a collection   
of the least-sane followers of Elu Thingol and House Finarfin combined,   
for weeks on end? --And innumerable trees, of course. 

**Captain**:   
There would have been serious cultural and historical stuff too, visiting   
Amon Ereb. 

[the Steward just Looks at him] 

--And bugs, and no furniture, and rain, and songs sung most uncarefully of   
technicalities, and whatever we managed to scare up for dinner, and you   
could have complained for weeks on end while enjoying the whole business   
just as you did in after years. 

**Steward**:   
That was after, and not unconnected with the events you insist upon   
recounting. 

**Captain**: [very smug]   
Got you. 

**Steward**:   
What? 

**Captain**:   
You finally admitted to a liking for cross-country excursions and hunting   
trips and the whole outdoors life. 

[the other grimaces in self-directed disgust] 

--What did I say, people? 

[there are groans and resigned sighs from around the circle] 

Pay up, now. 

[one by one the other eight find or manifest some small article of value and hand   
over the items to their commander, who pockets them all into his wallet, while the   
subject of the bet affects dignified obliviousness to it all.] 

**Beren**: [aside, to the Sea-elf]   
That's a wager. 

**Teler Maid**: [shaking her head]   
I still do not see the purpose of it. 

**Steward**:   
Would you just finish the confounded story? 

**Captain**:   
You mean you want me to tell it? 

**Steward**: [not fooled by the innocent tone of the query]   
No, I want it over with. 

**Captain**:   
Oh, all right. --As he said, for a couple of days he moped about, dodging   
out of my sight and worrying me still more -- though not much since I had   
some of my people looking out for him meanwhiles -- and then abruptly and   
quite unpredictably abandoned that policy by coming upon me unexpectedly and   
collaring me, and demands without any sort of explanation, "What do you   
think you're about?" 

**Steward**:   
You exaggerate shamelessly. I did not lay a hand on you, and you knew quite   
well at the time the matter whereof I spoke. 

**Captain**:   
So? And I meant "collared" figuratively, the way it's usually meant. 

[continuing] 

--And I said, "Er, what?" and he snarls back, "Why did you tell him I was   
not doing well?" and I said, "Because you aren't. Are you?" And that shut   
him up quite, for a bit at least. And then he gives me a look that would   
have frozen boiling water solid and asks me, "What are you looking to get   
out of this?" and I said, "--I beg your pardon?" 

[the Steward clears his throat] 

Well, what I actually said was, "Er, what?" again, which admittedly doesn't   
sound so intelligent but means the same thing-- 

[his former colleague giggles before recollecting herself] 

--and while I was trying to figure out which of several possible meanings of   
"this" was intended he reiterated, in very simple syllables and extremely   
slowly and then over again in Quenya too-- 

[the Steward's expression becomes more pained] 

"What -- do -- you -- want -- from -- me?" And I told him the plain truth   
again: "That you not be so gloomy." 

"Why?" says he, which was such an idiotic question that I gave it an equally   
foolish answer: "Then you won't have to spoil any more perfectly fine evenings   
by moping off in a corner." At which point he gets all haughty again and tells   
me, "If you minded it so much, then you ought have said something at the time." 

"If I had, I would have," I told him. I swear it felt like the Helcaraxe in   
there, for all 'twas midsummer. So, of course, I made a joke: "The House of   
Finwe already has one grim, bad-tempered Elf -- we don't really need another   
Caranthir about, do we?" Which threw him for a moment, and then he comes back   
ever so smoothly, "Belike you will be less high-humoured yourself when you   
have heard my message for you: our lord would speak next to you, and upon   
the moment." 

"I doubt it," said I. 

"You have not the Sight, I think," he tells me, just like that, and I said   
back, "Don't need it -- he's just going to tell me that you've agreed to the   
mission I suggested and ask me to take care of the necessary arrangements for   
the journey, and I'm going to tell him I've already done so." And he stands   
there scowling at me like a pup that's got out of its nest and can't find its   
way back to the litter, ready to try to chew your fingers off when you try to   
fetch the poor mite from behind a cask or under a chest or wherever it's backed   
itself into. "Just mind you don't get me shot, this time," I said as a joke,   
and he stops looking angry all of an instant and gives me a look completely   
guilt-stricken, which wasn't what I'd meant for to happen at all. 

[he stops, and does not go on, despite the Sea-elf's expectant look; the Steward   
clears his throat] 

**Captain**: [easily]   
Your turn. I'm tired of talking. 

**Steward**:   
That is so unamusing that it cannot even be considered a joke. 

[continued silence -- he gives the Captain an even sterner Look, to no avail.] 

**Captain**:   
You said you wanted it finished. Well, prove it. 

[after a moment of impasse the other capitulates, shaking his head] 

**Steward**: [acerbic tone]   
This lunatic stood there grinning, and while I was distracted with the   
consideration of my prospects for surviving a journey halfway 'cross   
Beleriand with a mad Elf who deemed it a fine jest to be shot, he declared   
to me, "You'd best not, for I'll haunt you if you do, I vow it," and dealt   
me a blow that sent me reeling to the wall before turning to go answer his   
own summons. 

**Teler Maid**: [troubled, to the Captain]   
For what did you hit him, that were not angered with him beforetimes? 

**Captain**: [snorting with disgust]   
I clapped him on the shoulder, is all. I didn't realize that the shock of   
it would knock him off balance like that. 

**Ranger**:   
You have to admit, sir, you're the only one that was ever so bold to slap   
Lord Edrahil on the back. Not even the King does that. 

**Steward**: [extremely austere]   
Finrod Felagund is a most civil, courteous and gracious lord whose humour   
never exceeds the limits of decorum; I leave you to your own conclusions   
as to the corollary. 

[picking up as though he'd been telling the story all along] 

--And so I found it even as he'd said, that my gear should have been readied   
and horses called and the other riders all waiting upon us, and so we gave   
thanks and farewell to our hosts and companions and betook ourselves upon   
the journey to the High King's holdings. And for those days and nights I   
sulked exceedingly and my wrath that I should be so judged and dealt with   
for mine own good, as were but a child, contended for precedence with   
indignation that a mere fighter's counsel should count as high as mine in   
our sovereign's sight (and also that manifestly should be deserved), and   
that his friendship should be so divided (for so I saw it) and both of those   
with the truth, which was that answer that I might not deny, and relief that   
the King should know and take thought for the burden of my griefs, and anger   
that it had been made known thus and in my despite, and I be reproached for   
keeping mine own counsel and my cares so long; nor was I good company the   
whiles, as might well be imagined-- 

**Captain**: [impatiently]   
--You take so long about even the simplest story. What happened was this:   
we kept having horse races -- which we always did, when the ground was   
level and clear, as a way to make the journey more fun, just as you'll   
recall from here -- and he kept losing and getting more annoyed, mostly   
because he wasn't concentrating on the course but getting distracted by   
his inner turmoil, and so his mount kept getting put out with him and back   
at him by doing things like going forward at an angle or splashing through   
the muddiest parts that could be found, and annoying everyone else -- and   
I ignored it all on the assumption that he'd get over it soon enough. 

[with a sidelong glance] 

--How hard is that to recount? 

**Teler Maid**:   
Do not be fooled -- he but did so of a purpose, that you would resume! 

**Captain**: [smiling]   
I know. We're almost done. He'd said nothing for the whole of the day --   
if you can believe it -- and we'd almost reached the end, when we stopped   
to watch the sunset on the water, and he rode off a little ways on his own,   
so of course I went along. After a bit he asks, "Am I truly like Lord   
Caranthir?" which I wasn't expecting. 

"Not so much," I said back, which was the truth. And he didn't say anything,   
so I said, "You're not really giving up your music, are you?" And he answers,   
"It was not sturdy enough for the journeying that lies ahead of us." I wasn't   
sure I liked the sound of that -- I mean, he'd managed to bring the instrument   
unbroken over the Grinding Ice, after all -- but I wanted to get on to the   
High King's hall before it got too late so instead of getting into that, I   
said, "You could make another that will be." 

"I don't want your pity," he says to me, not angry nor sharp nor anything of   
the sort. 

"I know," I told him. "I'm sorry." And he gave me a look to match the tone   
of voice, very plain, very straightforward, -- not like him at all, you'd   
probably say -- and returns, "Then since you will not rescind it, I must   
thank you for it." And She went down and we got back on the trail and went   
on from there. 

[silence] 

**Teler Maid**: [not entirely happy still]   
So it is of mercy that you did befriend him . . . 

[suddenly, rather fierce] 

For what do you spend so much of your time speaking but of him, when have   
you not your own lives and stories and deeds to be telling? 

**Beren**: [reasonable tone]   
But that's who you're really most interested in, and you know it and we   
know it. 

[pause] 

**Teler Maid**:   
You are unkind and do amuse yourselves at my expense, to find diversion   
in my folly. 

**Fourth Guard**: [earnest]   
Would you rather hear about the building of the City, Maiwe? I worked on   
the Gates: do you want to know about dressing stone so that a dry-set wall   
will line up perfectly and still appear completely natural from the outside?   
It isn't at all easy to make an ashlar facing look like weathered rock, you   
know, even though it does seem that it would be the easiest thing in the   
world to make broken stone look like broken stone. 

**Teler Maid**: [coldly]   
You do make sport of me. 

**Captain**:   
Do you mean you want us to talk about him, or you don't want us to talk   
about him? 

[somehow his former colleague finds her toes more interesting than anything else.] 

Sulking's also an option, I suppose. 

[she looks up at him with an angry expression] 

**Steward**: [tightly]   
You're not helping matters, you realize. 

**Captain**:   
On the contrary, that's exactly what we're doing. 

**Steward**: [disgruntled]   
I didn't ask for your assistance. 

**Captain**:   
Well, not in so many words, no. 

**Steward**:   
Not in any words. 

**Captain**:   
You don't think we can make it worse, do you? 

[pause] 

Look, all you're doing is imitating a statue, and-- 

**Steward**:   
--Exaggeration-- 

**Captain**: [not missing a beat]   
--not by much, when the Sea-Mew wants to know what happened to change a   
self-centered, neurotically-insecure-yet-overconfident musician into an   
unselfish, self-effacing hero? 

**Steward**: [through grit teeth]   
I am not any sort of a hero--! 

**Ranger**: [earnest]   
But you are, sir. 

**Soldier**:   
Even if we didn't see it before, we couldn't help it after Serech, when the   
King was down and you held us long enough for Beren's father to get there. 

**Steward**: [exasperated]   
What else could I have done? 

**Second Guard**:   
Run. 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Given up and died. 

**Captain**:   
Forsaken your duty because it was hopeless, instead of proving that sometimes   
it's a good idea to have a pessimist in charge, since it comes as no surprise   
to him not just that things could go wrong, but that there's no hope of them   
going otherwise. Instead of the chap who was convinced that yes, we could   
easily take out Melkor-now-Morgoth, retake the Silmarils (ignoring the problem   
of the Gloomweaver), and make Endor into what Valinor ought to have been, all   
in time to hear his epics chronicling it at dinner. 

[looking over at the three youngest members of the group:] 

--We were idiots, if you haven't realized that by now. 

[the object of their praises struggles with embarrassment, and then takes the   
offhand approach] 

**Steward**: [lightly]   
--What became of him? He faded, for the most part, unmarked and unmourned,   
during the crossing of the Ice; when it became most eminently clear that   
a talent for remembering was of far more worth put to the accounting of   
consumables and not for the rehearsing of lore, and a gift of eloquence   
more valuable employed in passing on a leader's instructions than any new-   
fashioned verse of his own devising. What little was left of him did not   
survive the knowledge that his ambitions had set another far on the Westward   
path, in his own place -- or in the stead of a Northern destination -- and   
a hard reckoning of the worth of that exchange, listening for heartbeats in   
terror of silence. He did not return from that parley, and none missed him. 

**Captain**: [musing]   
--Unregretted, perhaps, but not unnoticed. --Though I was late in recognizing   
it, I must admit. We were well-settled along the Lake by the time it occurred   
to me that you were saying things because they were the sorts of things that   
you would have said, and well aware of how arrogant and pompous they sounded,   
and allowing folk to laugh at you not to have the better laugh on them, but   
as a strange way of joining in with the general mirth. 

**Steward**: [loftily]   
What curious notions you do come up with. 

**Teler Maid**: [narrowing her brows]   
Do you know what he would say, when gone from among the House, and neither   
Lord Ingold nor any other of the family to reprove him present, -- how he   
would declare that there was scarce any art whatsoever in the making of   
gardens, for so much did the plants do of their own, without care, and to   
but arrange them in differing place was the play of children, not of minds   
full grown-- 

[in a rush, aside to the Steward] 

--and when I did say that it was insult to the Earthqueen to say such you   
would but disclaim that it was honor to her to say that no hand could better   
hers, and your friends laughed at me behind their wine-cups, but can you   
say here that you did not twist words like hawsers?-- 

[not waiting for him to answer] 

--and of those who followed the Rider that there was little greater skill   
in those that did hunt than among the beasts themselves, for so much did   
they do indeed, that it should take no thought nor speech, nay, for must   
be silent when stalking prey-- 

[to the Steward again] 

--and that was much of mirth between your fine lord Maglor and his brothers,   
and all of the general bandying of words about, in that so-witty company --   
but you did think it, I knew then and know it to be true! 

[to the Captain, demanding:] 

It does not astonish you to learn that? 

**Captain**:   
Er -- no, I can't say it did when he told me. 

**Teler Maid**: [outraged]   
Is there nothing that he might do or yet have done, that would aggrieve   
you then? 

**Captain**: [rueful]   
What, you think it's easy, having a compulsively-hypercritical despondent   
type who's harder on himself than anyone else for a friend? 

[she shoots a Look at the Steward in turn] 

**Teler Maid**:   
And you say naught to that? 

**Steward**: [very dry]   
Rest assured, I would contradict him, -- if there were any point on which   
I might. But there is, for good and ill, nothing I can say. 

[she snorts angrily, her lips tightening] 

**Teler Maid**:   
Only that is not so. There are many things you might say, many things hard   
and sharp and pointed as swords, cold as iron, burning as fire, that should   
wound the spirit, -- only you choose not so, but let them make game of you,   
and answer not, but smile from your high vantage point and fancy yourself   
most generous, that you withhold your mockery! And these are grateful for   
even the crumbs of your notice that you so jealously grant them! 

[Beren and the Youngest Ranger exchange a startled glance] 

**Beren**: [whispering, to the Youngest Ranger]   
Whoa, does that sound familiar or what? 

**Youngest Ranger**: [nodding, as quietly]   
It sounds like the Fall of the Noldor, the bits with Feanor. 

[through the rest of her tirade they carry on a low-level exchange of nervous   
banter, making it increasingly harder for the nearer of the Ten to behave] 

**Beren**:   
--Yeah. 

**Teler Maid**: [glaring around at the rest of them]   
You sit at his feet in eagerness and hope that he should approve ye and make   
remark of your words as though he were Lord Ingold himself! 

**Captain**: [straightfaced, not showing any anger in response]   
Oh no, we never get them mixed up. They don't look anything alike. --Sound   
different, too. 

[this just makes her lose her temper still more] 

**Teler Maid**:   
You know whereof I mean! You are pleased even to have his mockery, as though   
you merited no more, as though such attention were honour of itself and enow   
for your content! 

**Youngest Ranger**: [aside]   
Only we never thought of him as a god. 

**Beren**: [aside]   
Speak for yourself. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Are you blind, then, that can see all else so clearly, and nothing of this?   
What fog misleading has he set upon the lot of ye, that should be so fondly   
led and misled that have not my excuse for it? 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Well, perhaps a demi-god. 

**Teler Maid**:   
You are even yourselves Noldor, -- well, for the most part -- and that high   
precedence he cannot claim against you. --Oh, but you came to the Light sooner   
than we -- and yet you left it fast enough in truth as well! 

**Beren**: [shrugging]   
I'm not really one to say, though, being mortal. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Or is it that you believe in his assurance of greater wisdom, and that you   
less skilled in words, less truly are the Quendi than he and his honored   
companions? 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
You met all the same Powers I did when we were alive. 

**Beren**:   
True. 

**Teler Maid**: [gesturing sweepingly]   
Only not any of ye has not the gift of thought nor song, but instead to it   
do add other skills, so far from diminished that are not bards or scribes! 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Except Morgoth. 

**Beren**: [quick headshake]   
Didn't meet him. 

**Teler Maid**: [impassioned, not noticing (or caring) that no one is disagreeing with her]   
But what of that which all must have to live, nor there might be speaking   
without?! Is it not so -- that to grow and catch the stuff of food, of   
clothing, to make the things that must be had for other making, is that   
not as worthful as to make words and letters to hold them in? 

**Youngest Ranger**: [nodding slightly towards the Steward]   
--He's not much like Queen Melian. 

**Beren**: [biting his lip]   
N--nope. 

[there is some suspicious coughing from his left as well, but Earwen's former   
servant is too caught up in her harangue to notice them.] 

**Teler Maid**:   
Or why are things of stone more noble than the same designs when made in   
woven rushes, more worthy a vase than a basket, tell? Or why is a house of   
stone more noble than a ship of wood? 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Nor Huan neither. 

[the Hound perks up his ears and rolls his eyes to look at them without lifting   
his head] 

**Beren**:   
Oh, I don't know, you haven't heard Huan being sarcastic-- 

**Teler Maid**:   
Is there not no less skill in either, and so too in the makers of them? 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Well -- perhaps so. But really I'd say-- 

**Beren**: [interrupting, glancing at his neighbor on the left]   
--Don't say it. 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
But-- 

**Beren**:   
I know what you're gonna say. Don't. 

**Teler Maid**: [rhetorically]   
Well? 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
You can't. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Have you not anything of respect left for the worth that is your own? But   
must you cede it all up to him, who does not give any back? 

**Beren**:   
Yes I can. 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Prove it. 

[Beren looks apologetically at the Warrior, who is trying with supreme effort   
to keep a straight face, and leans over to try to whisper his guess too quietly   
for anyone else to overhear -- but the strain is too much and all three dissolve   
into sputters of laughter, drawing wrath upon themselves] 

**Teler Maid**: [snapping about to direct a furious Look their way]   
What do you mutter when I attend you not? 

[now the object of scrutiny from all about the circle, the culprits attempt to   
display a spirit of reform: the Warrior by straightening up, eyes front, the   
Sindarin Ranger by bowing his head apologetically under his commander's stern   
expression, and Beren by looking innocent. None of this works particularly well.] 

Pray, what of my words does so greatly amuse you? 

[she leans around to glare at them; Beren leans back, trying to stay out of the   
line of the glare] 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
. . . 

[she reaches around behind him and pokes Beren hard, making him look at her   
guiltily] 

**Beren**:   
Uh -- we were just -- ah -- being silly. 

**Teler Maid**: [innocently]   
Nay, and I thought you but spoke of the winds. 

**Warrior**: [uncertain]   
But -- there isn't any weather in here. 

**Teler Maid**: [grimly meaningful]   
Even so. 

**Beren**: [looking at the senior officers]   
Er, sirs -- we have to tell the truth, right? 

**Steward**:   
Or else remain silent. 

**Beren**: [glancing nervously at the Teler girl, who is leaning around still scowling at him]   
I don't think that's an option right now. 

**Steward**:   
Then, as you understand it, yes. But you will find it simply to be so, not   
something to be worked at. 

[aside to the Captain] 

--And no, we are not going to explain how to get around it, things are bad   
enough as it is. 

**Beren**:   
Can I leave things out? 

**Teler Maid**:   
No. 

**Beren**:   
Damn. 

[he sighs heavily] 

Promise you're not gonna yell at me? 

[she keeps glaring at him, and he squares his shoulders, sighs again -- and   
breaks into helpless snickers once more.] 

**Youngest Ranger**: [aside]   
--Just run for it, Beren. 

**Beren**:   
Oh, you're volunteering to explain? 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
No, I'll be retreating right alongside you. 

**Captain**:   
Lads -- you're straining my patience, now. 

**Beren**: [straightening up]   
Yes, sir. 

[to the Sea-elf] 

When you started saying we were all being like a bunch of dumb kids just   
looking up to Lord Edrahil even if he was looking down on us, it reminded   
us of what Feanor said about the Valar and the Noldor, or the Noldor and   
the Valar rather, and when I say "reminded us" I mean "about" since the   
two of us weren't around for it, so we can't actually get reminded of it,   
but you know what I mean, right? So -- that -- just got us going about the   
Powers we did know, and if they were like him at all or not, and he-- 

[lightly elbowing the Teler Ranger] 

--was just about to bring up Morgoth's second-in-command, and I lost it. 

[his co-offender gives a huff over being proven wrong; the Sea-elf's Look   
becomes still icier] 

I know it wasn't really appropriate, but we weren't trying to be rude, and   
I guess it wasn't really all that funny either-- 

**Warrior**: [aside, straightfaced]   
--Melian. 

[Beren breaks down again, but the Youngest Ranger manages to maintain his   
composure -- for all of a half-second. The Captain just shakes his head, sighing.] 

Sorry, my lords. 

**Steward**:   
One supposes you were incapable of refraining, and hence not culpable. 

**Youngest Ranger**: [nodding seriously]   
That's it precisely, sir. 

**Teler Maid**: [furious]   
Even you! Even you that are of the free kindred that went upon your own   
ways, you too are content to be his thrall and fool and make jest even of   
yourself for his amusing! 

[her distant compatriot bows his head, trying to avoid conflict, but the Steward   
looks up at last and leans forward, his eyes blazing] 

**Steward**: [fiercely]   
Think you so, my lady? --That I know not the worth of these my friends, nor   
rate theirs properly against mine own, but deem it no more than due? That no   
more do they, but like fools do believe a glamour of words and certainties   
and pride, as they were deceived by the Enemy himself? Listen, then, and then   
judge them as you will-- 

[she glares back, not backing down, though the others do not look happy] 

You will hear whether or not they know my limit, and the boundless depths and   
heights of my cowardice, and if their kindness and care of my uncertain temper   
is of aught other grounds than their compassion! 

[the Captain grips his shoulder, but does not make any attempt to interrupt; but   
when he goes on the heat is absent from his voice almost completely, and the edge   
is replaced by a calm, if somewhat wearied, factual tone] 

When we were taken prisoners, and sentenced to die unless we should betray   
which among us were our leaders, and what our mission had been, I held at   
first that I should endure far better than my fellows, for my greater   
understanding of all things, that I judged but second to our royal master's,   
and for that those things which grated so heavily upon certain of us, and   
that some had no power whatsoever to withstand-- 

[he looks apologetically at the Youngest Ranger, who is watching him with a   
serious, intent gaze] 

--to me were almost nothing, compared to those burdens which did trouble   
me deeply. But that confidence, which was indeed pride, and in equal part   
fear that another less able to resist would break and give Sauron the   
Abhorred the word he wished, and thus the keys that might unlock not only   
Nargothrond but also haply Doriath, did news of our fate come to King Elu's   
daughter. --We did not at that time know that she had already learned some   
part of it, and even then was making effort to come to Beren's rescue, but   
had been twice thwarted before reaching more than halfway to our holding-place. 

[he frowns, looking off thoughtfully -- she snaps her fingers impatiently to get   
his attention] 

**Teler Maid**:   
But? 

[to his confused look] 

But what of that confidence--? 

**Steward**:   
Forgive me -- I am somewhat distracted with many things, and this is not   
so easy a tale, nor one I am much used to tell. 

**Second Guard**: [aside]   
Huh --That's an understatement. 

**Teler Maid**: [aside, suspicious]   
Who is this, that addresses me in such a fashion? 

**Steward**:   
As I had begun, but finished not, that confidence of mine was far from   
well-founded. Instead of other and more noble cares, the one that came   
to prey most upon my mind was fear, not of pain but of being unhoused:   
the certainty grew upon me that I should be lost there, unable to find   
my way, unable to escape the snares and power of our captor, and the   
dread of it was worse than sleeplessness, nor the burning of the chains   
that caused it, nor the dark itself. So great did this conviction become,   
and so wholly did it consume my attention, that I grew to most bitterly   
resent the giving of my place to you-- 

[glancing at the Captain] 

--and to waste much fruitless energy in wishing to have the deed undone; and   
in fury, that Barahir's son might not be obliged as we to spend a measureless   
Age in yet another prison after that one, but should go free, nor be held   
shelterless within these Halls-- 

[to Beren and the rest of the Ten, wryly] 

--I am often wrong, you see. 

[Beren shakes his head] 

**Beren**: [tightly]   
Nobody Saw this one coming. Not even Lord Mandos. 

**Steward**:   
In any case, Maiwe, you must surely concede that none that were present can   
have any doubt of my vanity, nor my weakness, nor my inability to rule the   
same-- 

**First Guard**: [interrupting, very definitely not rudely]   
--That -- wasn't how it seemed -- to us, sir. That you could be that frightened,   
and not give in, and still care about us, the worse it got -- how could we do   
any less? 

[the Steward bows his head in embarrassed acceptance] 

**Teler Maid**: [shaking her head]   
But that does not make sense. How could one not come here, when your body is   
not there to stay in? What foolishness is that, to worry about "finding your   
way"--? 

**Captain**: [aside to her, urgently]   
It -- isn't the same, for everyone. 

**Steward**: [shrugging]   
--Unreasonable, perhaps, but reason had long abandoned me. I strove to conquer   
it, and thought I had at last, by virtue of silencing my mind, that I thought   
of nothing, but only the ever-changing, ever-familiar, never-silent vistas of   
the Sea; and thus could not afflict my companions with my fear, nor they to   
shake me with their own. But I had not escaped it, only hidden for a while,   
and again the dread of it grew so strong upon me that I could no longer speak,   
for it drowned out all other thought, so that when my time came at last, I had   
not strength even for wrath, or for any other thought than that I should at   
least no longer be obliged to hear his coughing-- 

[nods towards Beren] 

**Teler Maid**: [confused]   
Was there smoke? 

[the Steward shakes his head] 

Then what was it made you cough? 

**Steward**:   
Not us. Only he. 

**Teler Maid**: [frowning still more]   
Why? 

[the Ten exchange looks of dismay and distress, while her expression changes   
from confusion to anger at being apparently treated as unworthy of response.   
Huan starts whining, very softly, and gets a light tap from the Captain to   
make him shut up.] 

**Beren**: [to the others, earnestly]   
She doesn't understand. How can she? No one who stayed has ever met us.   
You said that not even animals get sick here the way they do back home,   
there's no blight on crops, things don't grow wrong, they just grow until   
they get old and stop, or something eats them first -- they don't start   
dying while they're alive. 

**Teler Maid**: [sudden understanding]   
That is what they meant, those I did overhear talking that are returned,   
when they spoke of the Sickly Ones-- 

**Range**r: [fierce]   
You mustn't say that-- 

**Teler Maid**: [concerned]   
Is that unmannerly? Was that insult, then? 

**Beren**: [shaking his head]   
Not from you, no. 

**Steward**:   
No living thing fares well in chains, in darkness -- not even the Children   
of Aule could bear such forever, I think; but for we that were born of earth   
beneath the sky, it is death to be held under stone, and falls hardest on the   
youngest of us. No more than a bird or a green plant might live without free   
air or light -- yet the bodies of the Secondborn still strive to mend and to   
live despite the harm even as our own, and that is sickness. 

[pause] 

**Teler Maid**:   
For how long were you imprisoned? 

[none of the Elven shades answer her -- they do not know] 

**Beren**: [in a weirdly-detached manner]   
The leaves were partway-turned when we reached the southernmost edge of the   
delta, the farthest point north we got. The trees were bare when Huan broke   
Tinuviel out of Nargothrond. Closer than that, can't tell. I don't even know   
if that means anything to you, if you had seasons here before like we do now. 

**Teler Maid**: [quiet]   
But a long time -- longer than days-- 

[he nods] 

**Beren**: [shortly]   
Yeah. 

**Steward**: [quietly]   
But not so long as years, as those that are thralls of the Iron Lord must   
serve without hope, until, and if, they are allowed to die. 

[she stiffens, her expression growing hard] 

**Teler Maid**:   
They are Kinslayers, and such is their fate. 

[the Youngest Ranger starts and looks grim, but the Steward replies before he   
can say anything.] 

**Steward**: [still dispassionate]   
Not all. Many are of your tribe of our people, and guilty of no murder --   
for the Lord of Fetters cares nothing for the deeds or misdeeds of those he   
takes for slaves, saving only as he might use them against his foes. It is   
a terrible choice to be given, between dying and giving slavery to those   
that have been one's friends. 

**Teler Maid**: [chill emphasis]   
I had no choice. 

**Steward**:   
And for that I do envy you. 

[she makes as if to say something, and he waits, until it is clear she will not,   
before he goes on] 

But even though I did make it, there was no respite there, no satisfaction   
in the deed of choosing, for the slave-demon made no haste in its work to   
end my time of captivity, and the fear of being stranded as an unquiet ghost   
grew to outmeasure what dread I had known before as a true hurricane that   
uproots ancient trees and hurls the Sea upon the land and casts down the   
sand cliffs into it outpaces the wind and tumult of a common thunderstorm. 

[again her braids are being turned into knots without her realizing it] 

And that was worst of all -- I had not dreamed that fear could be so strong,   
nor that any emotion might consume so without killing, and I was still bound   
there to life, even as I was torn from it and from my friends, who might   
not save me, no more than I might aid them. All that was left of my mind   
was fear, and a longing to be free of it, as might a wild bird trapped in   
a burning cage know, and in my yearning I reached for that dream that had   
given me rest when no rest was to be had, and the Sea was there. 

[at these words the Captain slides his arm across to grip his other shoulder,   
and he leans his head back against his friend's elbow in acknowledgment of the   
gesture, but doesn't hesitate or stop:] 

And I understood at last, in the place beneath all speech, all mastery of   
words, beneath the biting roots of that fear that had devoured my wits more   
thoroughly than the Enemy's beast devoured my body, that it was no mere   
memory nor fancy born of my own wishfulness, but truth: that the voice of   
the Sea is wherever the Lord of the Waters holds dominion -- and the salt   
currents run endless through our hearts, through every least inch of our   
flesh, through our brains and our bones living, and never can we escape   
the Deep, though it lies so near to us that we do not even mark it for   
the most part. 

[smiling grimly] 

And I knew also that my fear, for me, was the truth -- that I had so weakened   
myself in my lonely war against it that I might not have the strength to make   
my way Westward against the dark winds that blew across Middle-earth, and I   
should indeed perhaps be trapped by the Enemy's might, if not as his slave,   
then as a lost thing that once had a name, within the shadows. 

[pause] 

**Teler Maid**: [doubtful and resentful at once]   
But -- you did mean it for mercy's sake -- to keep your fears to yourself. 

**Steward**:   
So I did indeed. 

**Teler Maid**:   
But that is not fair-- 

**Steward**:   
That I should be free to harm myself for good cause as for ill? 'Twould be   
hard, I think, that I should be let Doom myself for vainglory, and not to   
protect those I loved, whether it made any difference in the end. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Yet-- 

[she subsides again with a troubled expression] 

**Steward**:   
Only might I turn to the Waters, while yet they ran within my emptying veins,   
and forsake the dry cliff from which I watched the breakers in my thoughts,   
and let the god of the Deeps protect me, and thus find safety -- and this I   
knew, as one knows the embrace of one's parents from the first, before ever   
word or name is known, and yet -- I did not dare to enter the Sea. 

**Teler Maid**: [baffled]   
But why should you yet fear the Sea, and more so than houseless death? 

**Steward**:   
But I did. Nor was it all unreasoning in its root, though there was no reason   
in me then; for your Lord nor his folk had cause to love me, being Noldor. 

**Teler Maid**: [with suppressed intensity]   
But you have sworn to me, Edrahil, most solemnly, that you had not any part   
in our deaths! 

**Steward**:   
I have, and ever shall. But many were on those ships that had not wielded   
blade, and I had seen the sorrow of the Long-Haired Lady more terrible than   
the wrath of Feanor, ruining that which he had accounted more worth than   
lives, and with their destruction those lives as well. 

[pause] 

**Teler Maid**: [taut]   
They did consent, still. --Though it be after. 

**Steward**: [gently]   
And might I have been among them, had I not feared the Deep so much even   
then, full as much as I did trust Finarfin's son, and refuse the urgings   
of those that had been among that company you recollect, that smiled at   
you behind their cups, and praised me for my wit. And despite my innocence   
of blood, I dreaded that my unkindness to you and to your kin, and my   
contemptible thoughts of all your tribe, should be known to them of the   
Sea and I tarried in dread, while the tide ran ever lower, and I wished   
that the decision might be made for me without my making it, that a   
crashing breaker might sweep me from the rocks; but that might not be. 

[he sighs; the Captain swats Huan preemptively again] 

**Teler Maid**:   
But you did at last. 

**Steward**: [nods]   
I did. As reluctantly as I had eagerly fled thence did I turn West at last,   
and yielded and cast myself into the mercy of your Lord, and the Sea took me,   
and all the tangled ambitions and regrets and certainties and remembrances   
dissolved as I had feared, and I was free, no shred cohering to be caught by   
grasping foe, nor caught upon that other shore, and there was peace, though   
I cannot well say for me -- for where is difference, once the berg has melted   
into the summer wave? 

[she is looking at him seriously, without her previous skepticism or hostility] 

A time passed, and the tide washed upon this shore, and here did I remain,   
bodiless and broken, upon the land where I was born, blind, and without   
remembrance even of my names, that I might from that small coal of knowledge   
rekindle my self's shaping -- and thus might I have remained even to this   
instant, for all of mine own strength. None of my ability or wisdom or will   
should have sufficed, so far had I lost myself in my wanderings, had not   
these sought me out most loyally and lavished their sorrow upon me and   
called me by my names and stayed me until I returned from my darkness --   
all that endures, that is to say. 

[as he finishes he looks now at Beren, who is watching him with an expression   
both grief-stricken and under control.] 

**Beren**: [whispering]   
I'm sorry. 

**Steward**: [as softly]   
I know. 

[the moment is one of complete mutual acceptance, and recognition of that   
acceptance, and consequent peace, broken almost immediately] 

**Teler Maid**:   
But for what does he ask your pardon, that was taken in the same cruel   
punishment? --Only-- 

[looking at Beren uncertainly, then back again] 

--he did say he was the cause of your coming hither . . . 

[she trails off; Beren starts to answer, but the Steward raises his hand   
commandingly] 

**Steward**:   
Hush, child, she did ask of me. 

[to the Sea-elf] 

--The Lord of Beor begged aid and guestright of Earwen's son our King, that   
never should have needed to do the same, but such have the times become in   
the lands beyond, that news be scarce, and help scarcer. And he in his turn   
repaid his life-debt and kept his promised word to give such help, though   
the price of it be life as well as kingdom, robbed of him by faithlessness,   
though none should have prevented him from answering the mortal with silence,   
and barred doors, nor obliged him to honor pledged faith save his heart's   
honour. 

[the detatched, factual tone is displaced by great intensity] 

And none did compel me, nor any of these our friends to follow, saving   
our own hearts likewise, though any could see, nor the King alone, that   
for this endeavor should be no likely ending save disaster. And so we   
were taken by the demi-god who now rejoices in a name of loathing, and but   
little more than half our journey made, though the way in end did prove far   
longer than any had guessed. And there we perished, that he might not. 

[she looks at him with a wide, fixed stare -- then suddenly springs to her feet] 

**Teler Maid**: [through clenched teeth]   
I do not want to pity you, -- nor to honour you! 

[silence -- she turns to look at Beren] 

I wish I could hate you. I wish-- 

[in a rush] 

--I wish I had never to have left my home for Tirion, that never should I   
have known any of ye, nor should I have perforce to cared, that had I been   
slain upon the Night yet would the Doom upon you meant no more to me than   
justice done, nor I to have stayed here when most all have long gone home,   
to wait for you that now are strangers all, for love and hate for him that   
ever was a stranger! I wish I were not here-- 

**Captain**: [reaching his free hand up towards her]   
Maiwe-- 

**Teler Maid**: [cold]   
You are kind and will urge me peace regardless. Let him speak, that I should   
stay, or go -- as he'd rule me. 

[the Captain winces and looks away; she does not rescind her no-win mandate, but   
continues to stare down at the Steward, who does not flinch at her anger] 

**Steward**: [very simply]   
Please -- don't leave -- like this. 

[long pause] 

**Teler Maid**: [in bleak admission]   
If I go, where shall I go? Where is there for me to be, but here, and beside   
you? If I go -- I shall only return, like fish to a bow-lantern, drawn to   
your light and your song-- 

[looking around at them all] 

--from my shadows, for I cannot unknow what I now know. Only might I stay   
hidden, that none might discern or touch me -- and I to affect none in my   
turn, silent as mist. Long enough was I quiet beside you! -- or would you   
have me in death as in life, Edrahil, silent in your shadow, when you would   
not have my chattering to interrupt you nor shame you amid the wise? 

**Steward**:   
Not though your words be harder than hail upon my soul. 

[she stands with her fists clenched, then in abrupt, disjointed motions in   
succession puts her hands on her hips, folds her arms, and lets them fall   
to her side] 

**Teler Maid**: [tired and frayed-sounding]   
I am much overset with all that I have heard and seen and learnt this day. 

**Beren**: [quietly, with the hint of a smile]   
Join the crowd. 

[he gestures to her place, and after a moment's hesitation she sits down again   
with a heavy sigh] 

**Teler Maid**: [to him, dispirited]   
Moreover if I were to hate you then these all should hate me in turn. 

**Captain**: [in a good imitation of his usual tone]   
We'd not hate you, Ternlet -- though we might toss you in the drink if   
you're too obnoxious, to be sure. 

**Teler Maid**: [startled]   
Why? 

**Captain**:   
Well, if I were involved, it might be considered a much-belated revenge for   
the time you incited my sister to help you push me off of the sea-wall at   
your lady's parents' House. 

**Teler Maid**: [affronted]   
That was not mine, that idea was hers! 

**Captain**:   
That's what she said. 

**Teler Maid**:   
I tell you, it was Sulilote thought of it! --First. 

**Captain**: [shaking his head solemnly]   
Led astray by my perfidious sibling. And you didn't say, "Oh, that wouldn't   
be nice, when he's got his pack still on and all his gear there, think how   
long it will take him to dry it all out and clean the salt off and polish   
and wax everything so stuff doesn't rust (and the bowstrings are going to   
be ruined anyway) so why don't we let's not?" 

**Teler Maid**:   
Um . . . 

**Captain**:   
Of course not, never even crossed your mind, I'll wager. 

**Teler Maid**: [stubborn]   
You did think it most droll, as well. 

**Captain**: [raising an eyebrow]   
And you think that excuses it, Sanderling? 

[she makes a strange little exclamation, half-laugh, half-sob, and looks   
away quickly, scrubbing hard at her eyes with her hair] 

**Teler Maid**: [forlornly]   
Not even you can make me to be cheerful now. 

[pulling herself together] 

But why should you do so to me? 

**Beren**:   
Apparently it's something they do on a regular basis. Only usually it just   
involves pushing unsuspecting hecklers into puddles or something. Nothing   
quite as elaborate as all this. 

[nodding towards the waterfall. Simultaneously:] 

**First Guard**: [wistful]   
We never thought of doing this before.   
**Captain**:   
They tripped, I assure you, on my honor! All of them. 

**Beren**: [dryly]   
Yeah, just like Prince Aegnor. 

**Teler Maid**: [wide-eyed, not sure if this is for real]   
You flung him into the water? 

[they nod, and Huan's tail thumps twice before he remembers he is being   
unobtrusive and a Sorry Dog.] 

Wherefore he spoke hatefully to your friend? --And what said Lord   
Ingold of it? 

**Warrior**:   
Oh, he said we could. 

**Steward**: [sighing heavily]   
That is not exactly correct. What he said was, if you'll recollect, in   
essence, that he could not stop us. Which, strictly interpreted, is the   
truth -- but rather begging the question, if you ask me (which no one   
did) of whether or not he had any intention of trying. --Which, as he   
had not, made it entirely impossible for him to do so, by logical   
necessity. 

**Captain**: [to the Sea-elf]   
See? He can still manage a properly supercilious set-down when it's   
appropriate. 

[she gives him a quick, forced smile] 

**Teler Maid**: [frowning suddenly]   
Was not his brother angry with him? 

**Captain**:   
I expect so. 

**Teler Maid**:   
What said they following? 

[he shrugs] 

**Captain**:   
He wasn't here. --Himself, I mean, not the younger one. --You really are   
a bad influence, Barahirion. 

**Beren**:   
Sorry, sir. I'm trying my best. 

**Fourth Guard**: [patronizing]   
Yes, Beren, but that's the problem, you see. 

[the Sea-elf ducks her head quickly, letting her hair fall forward to screen   
her expression] 

**Beren**: [aside to his neighbor on the right]   
--If you made a pebble and gave it to me, do you think I could throw it at him? 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
I don't see why not. 

[obliges; Beren tosses it accurately though left-handedly at the Guard, who   
catches it without effort and goes to flick it back] 

**Steward**:   
--Children. Behave. 

[the pebble mysteriously vanishes] 

**Captain**: [bland]   
How you do go on about nothing. 

**Teler Maid**: [harshly, still hidden behind her long hair]   
Keep on with the telling of this tale of yours, for there must have been   
things to happen between your sojourn by this lake and your deaths, I think--! 

* * *

**SCENE IV.xiv**

  
  
  
[Elsewhere: a long hallway, perhaps the same one where the duellists were   
earlier, perhaps another one much like it. There are massive columns lining   
it, as large as those along the portico of the Pantheon, but more prismatic,   
(squared or octagonal) and the vaulting is subtly more geometric than rounded,   
where visible -- just enough to convey a distinctly not-human origin; in other   
words, as everywhere, the Halls should not look like they're modeled on any   
historic architectural style or styles, but the reverse.] 

[Aegnor appears (literally) at one end of the corridor, still a bit bedraggled,   
and stands hesitating, looking towards Finarfin, who is pacing slowly down the   
hall with his back towards him. He makes an uncertain movement as if to draw   
near to him; seeing Amarie approaching from the opposite direction beyond,   
however, he ducks around behind a nearby column before either living Elf can   
become aware of him.] 

**Amarie**: [curtseying deeply]   
--Majesty. 

**Finarfin**: [with equal politeness]   
My lady. 

[pause] 

Is't not passing strange, this exchange of high formality that so late did   
customarily use other greeting? 

**Amarie**: [brittle]   
Thou dost know well, this present state -- 'tis none of mine own doing. 

**Finarfin**: [meaningfully]   
None? 

[she doesn't answer. The camera turns to reveal that behind the column, Aegnor   
is battling surprise at finding it already in use as cover by not one, but two   
of his siblings -- Angrod on the further side wearing an expression of stoic   
dismay, while Finrod, now in the middle, is endeavoring to restrain laughter.   
His amusement at the absurdity of their situation is not appreciated by either   
brother, Aegnor giving him a glare as he pushes him to move over and give him   
more room.] 

**Finrod**: [manic whisper]   
That's Father. Not me. 

**Aegnor**: [whispering also, very caustic]   
Really. --Any other relatives here? 

**Finrod**: [nodding]   
Aunt 'Danel, too. 

**Aegnor**:   
Not -- Mother? 

**Finrod**: [grim]   
No. 

**Angrod**:   
Shh! 

[out in the hallway, Amarie is still looking obstinate, but not quite as haughty;   
Finarfin's expression is wistful] 

**Amarie**: [resigned]   
There's naught to be said else upon the matter. 

**Finarfin**:   
Belike. 

[she tosses her head, folding her arms] 

**Amarie**:   
Thou hast spoken, my lady Earwen hath spoken, he hath spoken -- all the   
world and mine own kin have had their say thrice over. Should words mend   
the world -- there'd be no Marring. 

**Finarfin**:   
Thy certainty doth put me in mind of another Elf, upon another time,   
long gone past. 

**Amarie**: [hotly]   
My lord, let thou not compare me unto Feanor! 

**Finarfin**: [raising his eyebrows]   
Named I my brother? 

[silence] 

**Amarie**:   
I am no rebel -- nay, nor should ever be! 

**Finarfin**:   
In truth? 

[she gives the King a Look sharp but troubled] 

Hast not even yet received petition from the holy Powers, to lay aside thy   
wrath, and dost thou not cling fast with both thine hands in their despite--? 

[long pause -- behind the column Finrod's brothers stare at him, while he looks   
straight ahead, ignoring them. Aegnor gives an angry snort. Finrod does turn at   
that, and then frowns, feeling the other's sleeve, and then touching his hair   
before Aegnor shoves his hand away. Angrod shushes them again.] 

**Amarie**: [ice]   
It hath not been commanded me. 

**Finarfin**:   
Nor should e'er it be. 

[she turns away, her mouth set. He holds out his hand to her] 

Come, walk with me, an thou will't, --daughter. 

[Amarie turns back, startled, and her lips tremble -- there is, it seems,   
a chink in her armour] 

**Amarie**: [not letting it affect her voice]   
My lord, there is naught that may be seen, the way that I did come. Nor   
have I met any other within, saving only thine own self, though betimes   
I have methought that I did glimpse, still were there none either of shade   
or spirit when I did go thence. 

**Finarfin**:   
Then it shall matter not, the which direction we choose to take ourselves,   
is that not the truth? --Or wouldst rather have thy solitude, my lady? 

[she sighs, pulling her scarf about her as if cold again] 

**Amarie**:   
Nay. 

[sharply] 

--Nor yet would I be adviséd. 

**Finarfin**: [in the same gentle way he has addressed her throughout]   
How then, if thou shalt hear my heart's disclose, and thou advise, rather   
than to hear counsel given? 

[Again he gestures for her to accompany him, and this time, after a moment's   
hesitation, she begins to retrace her steps by his side, her posture very tense,   
until they can no longer be seen in the darkness.] 

[Finrod looks at Aegnor, who is trying to look nonchalant instead of guilty,   
without terribly much success] 

**Finrod**: [innocently]   
You're damp. How come? 

**Aegnor**: [grimacing]   
I don't know. By rights it should have been as evanescent as any decapitation,   
but the condition remains regardless. 

**Finrod**: [reasonable tone]   
Being wet is a much more common experience than being killed, hence the memory   
of it should naturally persist far more strongly. And you evaded my question.   
What happened to you? 

[brief pause] 

**Aegnor**:   
Your people are maniacs. 

**Finrod**: [still mild]   
You were hassling Beren again. 

[Angrod makes an exasperated noise] 

**Angrod**:   
Would you stop using that mortal slang? 

**Finrod**:   
No. Nor will I let you change the subject. 

[to Aegnor, the same calm manner, only now it seems rather chilling] 

Your behaviour is not only a disgrace to the family, it's utterly unreasonable.   
--Why do you blame him for making the same mistake that his kinswoman made long   
before he was born, rather than rebuking our cousin for presuming to be wiser   
than the rest of us, and showing us our folly as in a mirror? 

**Angrod**:   
Brother, you go too far-- 

**Finrod**: [ignoring him, fixing Aegnor with a Look]   
Unless it's simple cowardice -- sorry, prudence -- that so wisely durst not   
challenge Luthien. You got off lightly indeed. 

[they tense, and Aegnor glares at him, but he matches stares with the other   
calmly, until finally Aegnor breaks down and demands furiously:] 

**Aegnor**:   
--Why did you tell him we were guilt-ridden over the fact that our friendship   
with Cur and Cel led to your death? 

**Finrod**: [startled]   
I did no such thing! 

[narrowing his eyes] 

Is it true? 

[he looks at Angrod as well; they don't answer] 

I see. --Interesting. That -- hadn't occurred to me. 

**Aegnor**:   
It doesn't change a bloody thing! You're still behaving with a besotted   
obsessiveness that begins to rival our eldest uncle for self-destructive   
insanity! 

**Finrod**: [smiling faintly]   
Is that the way you both see it? 

**Angrod**:   
Yes! Can't you see that you're setting yourself on a headlong path towards   
disaster again, that you're bent on a course that will inevitably lead you   
into another conflict with the gods? 

**Finrod**: [shrugging]   
Well, at least it will be all my own doing, this time. 

**Angrod**:   
No, it's the same damnéd thing. Haven't you learned? You're going to let   
your softheartedness lead you into making the exact same mistake as before,   
throwing yourself away to defend those who have fallen prey to their own   
rashness and impulsive folly! 

**Finrod**: [slowly, cold iron]   
They were your people too. You claimed lordship to Beren only now -- and yet   
you will not defend him in his need. 

**Aegnor**: [sounding an awful lot like his eldest brother]   
We know perfectly well that we are among those for whom you threw your own   
freedom and safety aside, by our wanting to carry forward with our cousins,   
after Morgoth, over the Ice -- we condemn ourselves equally and without   
reservation. If anything, we are more qualified than any other, to warn   
you against this mistake. Isn't twice enough, that you must make it a third   
time? 

**Finrod**: [still more slowly]   
Mistake or not, I will make it. 

**Aegnor**: [grabbing his shoulder]   
No. We are going to make you see reason, brother. 

**Finrod**: [mild curiosity]   
And how exactly do you plan to do that? 

[he takes hold of their wrists, ducks under and turns all at once, pinning   
their crossed arms against the pillar, and stands facing them with a look   
of extreme exasperation] 

I should bang your heads together, but I doubt it would make any difference   
at this point. 

[they try to pull free, but he does not budge, and when Aegnor raises his free   
hand to pry away his grip he speaks with the same tone of power that he used on   
Beren in Act II, with equal effect] 

Be. Still. --Look at me. 

[he stares into their eyes in turn, and this time his voice is extremely gentle:] 

Do you think, my brothers, that I have not place enough in my heart for all   
my kin? Must your jealousy bring you, too, to violence against the youngest?   
Or do you hold that I have loved you the less, that I have loved Beor's   
children also? 

[Angrod doesn't speak and will not meet his eyes; Aegnor stifles a sob, flinging   
his head back hard against the pillar] 

I did not forget you -- nor do I forget you now. But I must take care of my   
own. --Do you need such help as those two now? If there is anything you'd   
have of me, you know you've but to ask. --But you've not. 

[pause -- when he goes on it is in a slightly harder tone:] 

Or is it that you need me to stay thus docile, that you may act as though you   
were my elders, and slight me with your words as though I were a fool, and   
half-mad, and yours the turn to shepherd me, in private as in the multitude,   
as not even they that have earned the right to it do presume -- and strange   
it is to me, for all that you as much as I must surely know that I but do   
indulge you in it. That -- I cannot give you. 

[he pauses again, briefly, but they do not speak] 

I have indulged you, because it did not trouble my peace, as to rebuke you   
should, as a father permits his children to make game about him, and set   
chains of blossoms upon him, and give him fond names of folly, while he   
muses in the garden's quiet. But that time is ended, as I knew it must,   
-- though I did not See it coming so soon, nor in such wise, I do admit --   
and I must rise to be King once again, as I had not thought to do, neither   
for hope nor dread, though my realm be nowhere and my following but a dozen   
as mad as I, and my only ally one half-goddess and the other half madness   
as well, and all of us naught but air and dream and that divine spark that   
kindles all that is. 

[fiercely] 

And yes, I will stand as I must, against whomever I must, and you may continue   
your play, as you will, for none can make you cease, but you shall not impede   
me in my duty. --Nor cross me, as you are wise. 

[Angrod is crying silently, tears sliding down his averted face; Finrod lets go   
of their forearms and lays his hand along Angrod's cheek, turning him to meet his   
eyes. He flinches, expecting judgment, and finds something else entirely. In a   
gesture of acceptance he leans against Finrod's shoulder and lets his brother   
hold him while he regains his composure] 

**Angrod**: [raggedly]   
--Sorry-- 

**Finrod**: [smiling, if rather sadly]   
--No lasting harm done. 

[he pats Angrod on the elbow as the latter straightens, wiping his eyes, and   
turns to Aegnor, who is standing with his arms tightly folded, a far greater   
look of misery on his face. Taking hold of his shoulder:] 

**Finrod**:   
Aegnor, it isn't hopeless-- 

**Aegnor**: [snarling]   
If you dare speak one more time to me again of your visions and your foolish   
hopes and your mad heresies, I will break your jaw, brother, elder, King,   
or not--! 

[Finrod lets go of his arm and steps back, with a very slight bow] 

**Finrod**: [ice]   
As you please. But I commend you not to do so before the Lord of Beor. I warn   
you, I'll not intervene on your behalf in this case either. 

[the other snorts, shaking his head] 

**Aegnor**:   
What do you think he could do -- even if he tried to defend you . . . this   
time? 

**Finrod**: [ironic]   
Come now, you've heard the echoes of the tale by now -- the air, the very   
stones are humming with it, born on the tide of whispers. Have you a wish   
to share Curufin's fate? I think our royal cousin will not intervene, even   
were she at hand -- she's much displeased with you at present, as I have   
warned you. 

[pause] 

**Aegnor**: [sullen mockery]   
He had both hands, then. 

**Finrod**:   
And Curufin was armed and ahorse. Take your chances, if you will. --But do   
not count too much on my restraint, either. There are limits to my patience   
as well. 

[to Angrod] 

You're coming with me, at least--? 

[neither of the other two stirs] 

**Angrod**: [gloomy]   
He will not be pleased to see me again. 

**Finrod**:   
It would be better if you'd let him decide that -- and forgive you your   
words himself. 

**Aegnor**: [sardonic]   
Why do you think he'll be willing? 

**Finrod**: [coolly]   
Because he is Beoring. --Because he is mine. Do you think he will not? 

[they don't answer this, either, but the defiance goes out of their expressions,   
leaving them standing there stubborn but forlorn as he turns on his heel and   
leaves them behind in the shadows.]   


* * *

**SCENE IV.xv**

  
  
  
[the Hall.] 

[Huan lifts up his head, and gives a soft, low noise somewhere between a bark   
and a growl, interrupting the conversation, a moment before the other Elven-   
warriors look over at the door, where a solitary figure is hanging at the edge   
of it, looking warily around the door frame. Seeing them by the remodeled   
fountain, he gestures urgently for someone to come over to him -- the Third   
Guard winces and covers his face with his hand.] 

**Fourth Guard**:   
You should just vanish. 

**Third Guard**: [getting reluctantly to his feet]   
That would only make it worse. Then he'd complain about that, too. 

[he goes towards the door resignedly; as the camera follows, leaving the Falls   
behind, Beren asks:] 

**Beren**:   
Who's that? 

**First Guard**:   
His nephew. It's . . . a long story. --And quite dull. You can ask him   
about if you really want. 

[at the doorway, the Royal Guard stops and folds his arms a short distance off,   
looking at his kinsman with an expression of combined exasperation and pity.   
The other Noldor shade waves urgently for him to come the rest of the way] 

**Nephew**: [whispering]   
Come over here. 

[he does so after a moment.] 

**Third Guard**:   
Why can't you come talk to me in a civilized manner? 

[the younger Elf looks around the Hall, and at the Loom and the Thrones, with   
a disbelieving expression] 

**Nephew**: [earnest]   
We need you to help. 

**Guard**: [sighing]   
I'm not interested. You need to ask King Felagund. 

**Nephew**: [getting exasperated himself]   
Why won't you help? What's wrong, that you can't even do a favor for your   
relatives? 

**Guard**:   
Because it's going to drag on and on into endless helping. I told you,   
I haven't any interest in your hobby and I'm not about to get caught up   
in it on your behalf. 

**Nephew**: [aggrieved]   
That's most unkind of you. 

**Guard**:   
It's most unfair of you to try to coerce me into doing your work for you. 

**Nephew**: [his voice rising]   
I'm just asking-- 

**Guard**:   
Just stop -- please. 

[the newcomer gives his uncle a dark look] 

**Nephew**:   
One would think you'd be ashamed to push me off like this, after what   
happened to me. 

**Guard**:   
Don't do this again. The fact that you were taken prisoner a yen and a half   
ago has no bearing whatsoever on your confounded project. 

[the other gives him an even more reproachful look, resulting in a still-more   
exasperated tone in response:] 

Look, I'm sorry you were a slave. I've said so. I don't know why you think   
that means I should be your slave. It wasn't my fault you didn't listen to   
your commander and got cut off and captured, was it now? 

**Nephew**:   
It isn't just that. 

**Guard**: [sternly]   
And that you should not be bringing to me, either. Take it up with your King. 

**Nephew**:   
It isn't fair! 

**Guard**:   
You knew the risks. You knew the rules. And you knew the reasons for them.   
Now, go work on your own things -- I'm busy right now. 

**Nephew**: [hurt]   
So you don't care that I was a beaten thrall for ninety years, before I   
managed to break free, and find my way to safety -- only to be turned out   
to live in the woods like a Green-elf or a human, to live with those   
savages, until I couldn't take it any more? 

**Guard**: [meaningfully]   
You said you escaped. 

**Nephew**:   
I did! You know I'm telling the truth! 

**Guard**:   
I know you believe what you're saying. It could even be true. That doesn't   
mean you weren't let to escape. 

**Nephew**:   
You don't really think I would be a spy for the Enemy? Your own sister's-son? 

**Guard**: [quiet]   
Can you honestly say that you weren't bound? 

[pause] 

You know, don't you? 

**Nephew**: [changing the subject]   
You tell me not to blame my troubles on everyone else, but I've heard you say   
that it's the fault of the sons of Feanor you're here. And Sauron. And Morgoth. 

**Guard**: [patient]   
Yes, but I've got the order straight in my head. I refused to turn back at   
Araman. And I paid the price for it. If I hadn't done that I'd never have   
been in that situation, or fallen into the Terrible One's clutches. 

[he looks at his younger kinsman expectantly, waiting for the obvious   
corollary to be made.] 

**Nephew**: [pounding his fist softly against the doorjamb]   
It isn't fair. At least you chose yours. 

**Guard**: [unsympathetic]   
Well, you weren't very fair to the Teleri, were you? 

**Nephew**:   
You don't understand -- you weren't there-- 

**Guard**:   
Don't give me that. If you didn't know what was going on, the obvious thing   
was not to leap in and start killing people, is that not right? 

**Nephew**: [sulkily]   
It's easy for you to say. 

[the older Elf half-turns, nodding towards the Waterfall] 

**Guard**:   
I'm not going to stand here halfway in the door all day. If you want to talk,   
come in and sit down with us and do it in a civilized fashion. 

**Nephew**:   
No! 

**Guard**:   
Why ever not? 

**Nephew**:   
You're going to get into trouble. --He'll be angry with you. 

[from the lowered emphasis and awe in his tone it is clear he is referring to   
the Lord of the Halls -- his uncle shakes his head] 

**Guard**:   
No. He just looked a bit annoyed, that's all. They're busy too, and we're   
not hurting anything. Now run along, would you? 

**Nephew**:   
You're so selfish! 

**Guard**: [with a frustrated exclamation]   
When are you going to stop thinking the Sun and Moon and the Stars revolve   
around you? There are other people in the world. 

**Nephew**:   
Don't talk like that! 

**Guard**:   
Sorry. But it's the truth, and you know it. Go complain to the High King   
about the fact that he wouldn't change the banishment rule for you. I wasn't   
there, complaining to me now is as useless now as it would have been then.   
Why don't you gripe at your friends from Eithel, that would make more sense. 

**Nephew**:   
You're no help. 

[he turns away abruptly from the door back into the corridor beyond; the Guard   
sighs and returns to his companions, sitting down with a groan of despair and   
puts his head down on his forearms. The Captain leans over and pokes him with   
the flask, which offer is accepted quickly.] 

**Beren**: [sympathetically]   
More crazy-making relatives, huh? 

**Warrior**:   
There's never any shortage of them. 

**Captain**:   
What's the lad want now? 

**Third Guard**: [capping the canteen and passing it back]   
Same as ever. Trying to get me to work on their Theoretical Chronometer   
again. And throwing his Doom in my face when I won't. --And our kinship. 

**Beren**:   
What's a -- Theoretical Chronometer? 

**Captain**:   
That's their imaginary clock. It's something that a bunch of Fingolfin's   
people have been working on, some of them for most of this Age, and it   
occupies them pretty thoroughly. 

**Third Guard**: [snorting]   
Obsessed, some might call it. 

**Warrior**:   
At least it keeps them quiet. Mostly. By comparison. 

**Beren**:   
How can a clock be imaginary? Is it real or not? 

**Captain**:   
It isn't real in any way that you'd think of real, Beren. Moreover it's not   
going to become real without His Majesty's help, and they haven't got it.   
They're designing a clock that would allow them to know how much time has   
passed Outside, but they haven't got anything to make it out of, so all they   
can do is talk about how they would do it, if they had. 

**Beren**:   
But that sounds like exactly his kind of project. 

**Captain**:   
The Leaguer wore out his patience with fools. He thinks they're being stupid   
in insisting on doing it as they are, and he thinks it's all a waste of time   
additionally. Sometimes he does help them in discussing ideas, on a purely   
hypothetical basis, but I can't tell if he's doing it because he feels sorry   
for them, or because of the intellectual challenge, or just to bedevil them.   
Because usually the result is to require them to tear apart everything they've   
done so far and start over again, afterwards. 

**Steward**:   
All. No question. 

**Teler Maid**: [doubtful]   
How can they take it apart if it is not real? 

**Beren**: [nodding]   
That's what I was gonna ask. 

**Soldier**:   
The equations and, er, mathematical processes. 

**Captain**:   
--Plans. They have to throw them all out and redraw them. So to speak. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Like to designing hulls and coming to see that the keel will not hold the   
height, before it is ever laid. 

**Second Guard**:   
Yes. I suppose so, at least. 

**Beren**:   
Why won't it work? I guess I mean, how could you tell if it would work or   
not, when it isn't something like a house, where you can say -- that's not   
going to fit any way like that? 

**Captain**:   
Erm... 

**Soldier**:   
That's part of the problem. Trying to figure out what would be a check on the   
processes is most of the designing of it so far. 

**Beren**:   
So what do you mean, they won't ask for help? If they're asking him about it? 

**Third Guard**: [shaking his head in disgust]   
They won't ask him to help. 

**Captain**:   
You see, there isn't any way to tell time without some connection to outside,   
because nothing changes here except us -- what we do. There's no regular   
pattern of light or anything to set it against, no day or night, no stars   
moving, no seasons -- so what are you going to measure? You understand the   
difficulty. 

[Beren narrows his eyes] 

**Beren**:   
It's not just a clock you're talking about. It's a calendar. You have no idea   
when it is for the living. 

**Captain**:   
Exactly. 

**Steward**:   
Though some argue that they are but the same thing, on differing scale. 

**Beren**: [decidedly]   
Nah. A clock is a thing, like the one in the City. A calendar is just --   
out there -- it's something that's real because it comes from the Sun. The   
Chronometer, you could have that play whenever you wanted, it just breaks   
up the day wherever you want to, not like a sundial . . . 

[trails off, frowning] 

So is a sundial a clock or a calendar? And what about the days of the week?   
How do you know where to make them start? 'Cause when there wasn't any more   
people around me I didn't know any more what was what. So did we just decide   
where they went? Or you guys, I guess, probably. --Huh. 

**Steward**: [approvingly]   
You begin to work out the problem on your own. 

**Captain**:   
We started over with Sunrise, by the by. Then you changed it around some on   
your own. --Or else you had your own and put it together with ours, I'm not   
quite sure. 

[mischievously] 

You'll have to ask Himself about that. 

**Beren**:   
But what would the problem be that he would have to help them and won't? Or   
I mean, how could he, I don't think you could make a clock out of stone, that   
wasn't a sundial, could you? How would that work? 

**Third Guard**:   
Water. It would be possible to turn one of the fountains into a measuring   
device, either simple or complex, since the water is constant-- 

**Ranger**: [cutting in]   
--Well, that's part of the whole argument, does anything progress here as   
it does outside-- 

**Third Guard**:   
--assuming that the water's rate of flow is constant, it could be calibrated,   
and then this could be correlated with known temporal coordinates, and the   
accuracy -- or constancy -- could be checked thereby. 

**Beren**:   
So what's the problem? 

**Captain**:   
He won't do it, they can't. 

**Second Guard**:   
Or rather, they won't ask him to teach them, and they haven't been able to   
figure it out on their own yet. 

**Ranger**:   
And the calibration process would require asking some of the staff for   
information, and they won't. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Give it? 

**Ranger**:   
Ask. 

**Beren**: [thoughtful]   
You know, I thought I was proud and stubborn. 

**Soldier**: [grinning]   
Well, you are. Only we're worse. 

[Beren glances up at the bas-relief behind the waterfall] 

**Beren**:   
Couldn't you do it? Or did he tell you not to? 

**Soldier**:   
Oh no. We just won't, because they didn't ask originally and were obnoxious   
about it. 

**Teler Maid**: [frowning]   
How can you be obnoxious about something you are not doing? 

**Soldier**:   
They didn't ask. They just demanded. 

**Youngest Ranger**: [gloomy]   
They said, "We need you to make this for us," and I said, "Why?" and they   
said, "You wouldn't understand," and I said, "No, I won't until you explain   
what it's in aid of," and they got more and more unpleasant about it, and   
I still wouldn't until they said what it was for. 

**Third Guard**:   
Tell them what it was they said to you, exactly. 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
I said I wouldn't do things without understanding why, except for someone   
I trusted, and I didn't trust them, because they were Kinslayers, some of   
them. Which was rather rude, I guess. But I didn't know if they were trying   
to do something to harass the Lord and Lady. 

**Steward**: [aside]   
As opposed to us who manage it without trying. 

[the Sea-elf flashes a hurried look at him, looking away before he notices] 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
So then they said -- some of them -- that they'd tell the Powers that I wasn't   
Noldor and shouldn't be staying here. And I told them, "Go ahead, and I'll   
tell them what you were doing as well," and that was the end of it. 

**Soldier**:   
Only not really, because then they did ask the rest of us -- most politely --   
who know how, only it wasn't any good, because we'd already heard all about   
it and that cruel bluff of theirs. 

**Third Guard**:   
So now we get occasional bouts of complaining and guilting, like that just now. 

**Captain**:   
They won't talk to Himself because they'd have to apologize, then. And for   
some reason they won't ask anyone who works here, which would be the simplest   
thing -- I think they're partly too proud, because they don't want to look   
like they care, and then there's this weird conviction that the answer is   
going to be no, and so there's no point in asking, though none of them will   
explain why they're so certain to be refused. 

**Steward**:   
Guilt. --It is possible that the answer might be incomprehensible, you know.   
The Powers care not about time as we do, and I've always had the sense that   
they consider any of our efforts to measure it a little odd. 

**Warrior**:   
And of course, they might be told, no, that wouldn't be helpful to you. 

**Fourth Guard**: [chuckling]   
Yes, but they'll never find out, at this rate. 

[two more visitors appear in the archway of the door, coming in a little   
uncertainly, and looking around. Huan starts wagging his tail vigorously,   
ears happily pricked in their direction] 

**Captain**: [a touch grumpily]   
What is this, the Crossings of Teiglin? 

[Beren peers over at them, frowning uncertainly] 

**Beren**:   
I think one of them's a ghost, and the other has red hair. I don't think   
I know them. Do you? 

[the Captain straightens up, surprised] 

**Captain**:   
As a matter of fact, yes. That's the King's aunt and one of the Greycloak's   
counsellors. 

[he taps the Steward, who is looking morosely and distractedly into the spill pool,   
on the shoulder.] 

More old acquaintances of ours -- do you want us to cover your escape? 

[the Steward looks over, startled, and then shakes his head, getting up with almost   
a relieved expression] 

**Steward**:   
Best get through it now, than go on dreading it. 

[waving off offers of help before they are made] 

I need no assistance in this -- the lady is reasonable, and kind, and such   
pain as comes cannot be borne by another. 

[the others look after him with a bit of worry, but not so much, knowing he's   
right, except for Beren, who scrambles up a moment later to follow him. Huan   
does not, but looks as if he wants to, his tail still brushing the floor softly] 

**Captain**: [to his former colleague]   
You're awfully quiet, Ternlet. How come? 

[she shrugs, not looking at him] 

I see. 

**Teler Maid**: [hesitantly]   
Are you much angered with me, then? 

[he shakes his head] 

**Captain**:   
Not much. He would never have spoken for himself if you'd not attacked us.   
--And are you still angry with me? 

[she shakes her head in turn. Looking after Beren:] 

**Teler Maid**:   
They are not very biddable, are they? 

**Captain**: [sighing]   
No more than we, Sea-mew, no more than we. 

[the focus shifts to where Nerdanel is receiving the Steward's greeting with a   
bemused, anxious smile, while the Ambassador stares past suspiciously at Beren   
who in turn is watching his friend with a worried look from a few feet off.] 

**Nerdanel**:   
So, then -- what wouldst thou of me, Enedrion? 

**Steward**: [bowing]   
I would offer my apology to your House, my lady, if you in turn would be so   
gracious as to convey such in my stead. 

**Nerdanel**:   
What, dost deem a yen sooner matterest, that it should rather be half-and-three,   
than half-and-four, that might not proffer thine own words unto my father? 

[he winces at the dry note in her words] 

**Steward**:   
Please you, my lady, I entreat you to withhold your righteous indignation at   
my misspent years, for mercy's sake, not mine own, as I have had my fortitude   
sorely tried of late. 

[pause] 

**Nerdanel**:   
Never thought I to hear thee seek for pity, youngling -- no more than witness   
thy granting of it. 

[giving up on being discreet, Beren comes forward to stand at the Steward's shoulder   
once more] 

**Beren**:   
Excuse me, but -- you really shouldn't give him a hard time, ma'am. He's had   
plenty already. 

**Steward**: [stiffly]   
My lord, I said I required not assistance. 

**Beren**:   
Yeah, but you were wrong. 

**Steward**: [nodding acquiescence]   
--True. 

[Beren touches his arm reassuringly] 

**Beren**:   
It's okay, I'm not going to get hurt by words now. 

**Nerdanel**: [slowly, fascinated]   
So, thou -- art he -- Aftercomer that hath undone Immortal design, and   
confused the counsels of the great of Arda. I must perforce confess I had   
conceived of thee as . . . other -- nay, far more imposing of thy presence   
withal. 

**Ambassador**: [aside]   
As had we. 

[Beren turns and gives him a cool Look] 

**Beren**:   
Do I know you? 

**Ambassador**: [unperturbed]   
We were not introduced, milord. I was present at your -- introduction,   
to the court of Elu King of Doriath, but no doubt you were far too . . .   
preoccupied to remark or regard my presence among their Majesties'   
counsellors. 

**Beren**: [drily]   
--Yeah. Just a bit. 

[to Nerdanel, not mocking, but with a touch of humour:] 

--Sorry to disappoint, my lady. 

**Nerdanel**:   
Less that, than a marvel, that thou shouldst find so light that which all   
mine own sons and spouse alike did strive for in vain attempt--! 

**Beren**:   
Er, light? -- no. Also, from what I know about the War, actually going and   
trying did make a huge difference. 

**Nerdanel**: [frowning, confused]   
All that, and 'twas not attempted? For what, then, yon wild pursuit, nor all   
this Age's doings? 

**Beren**:   
After Feanor got killed -- 

[she winces, and the Steward shakes his head in dismay] 

Sorry -- I-- 

[Nerdanel gestures him to continue, though her expression is grim] 

Just keeping him contained -- Morgoth, that is -- so that he couldn't get   
out of Angband. Until he did. 

[glancing towards the Steward] 

He can tell you better than me, 'cause I wasn't born for most of it, or   
even him-- 

[nods towards the Sindar lord] 

--'cause Tinuviel's people weren't involved in most of it. 

**Steward**: [serious]   
The tale is long, and all is yet not known, and my lady's nephews I believe   
hold the greatest knowledge of its finer points -- but my friend has told   
the heart of it: after hard defeat, no endeavor to break within and seize   
the stones was made, before the Beoring and his well-named love did undertake   
the deed. 

[pause] 

**Nerdanel**:   
So. That which was begun in fiery and utmost haste, did shortly end in slow   
and moveless state, as the flux will run cold to congeal that hath flown   
swift in blaze, that is not banked and channeled that the coals do catch. 

[shaking her head, with a bitter half-smile] 

A dreary tale, yet, but curiously apt unto the madness of it all. --How it   
must gall them, that Secondborn hath mastered Morgoth's might! 

**Beren**:   
"Mastered" is way too strong a word for it. 

[she gives him an appraising glance and he shrugs. Reluctant:] 

Ah. I have to tell you, ma'am, I -- I tried to pull your son's head off. 

**Nerdanel**:   
Indeed -- and which? 

**Beren**:   
C--Curufin, my lady. 

**Nerdanel**:   
Nay, forasmuch as he hath ever been the image of his sire, that doth little   
'maze, then. --For what offense? or any, or all? 

**Beren**:   
Huh? Um, yes -- that is, he was trying to kidnap Tinuviel then -- or he had   
been, before I grabbed ahold of the bastard and got him by the neck -- sorry. 

**Nerdanel**:   
For why? Surely such deed should merit answer, if any might -- yet, I gather,   
didst not gain thy way. 

**Beren**:   
Oh. --No, she made me stop and let him go. 

**Nerdanel**: [shaking her head]   
This tale groweth more confused ever the more I do learn of it. Could any set   
it out in such wise that sense shall come of it? --But I confess I have not   
apprehended all thy thought: what is yon word "bastard" thou didst name my son? 

**Beren**: [chagrined]   
Um. It -- it's an -- it's a mortal insult. I mean, it's in our language. It's   
not necessarily mortal . . . 

[trails off] 

**Nerdanel**: [dry]   
Nay, and I had deemed it a laud, no less. For certes an insult, as thou dost   
aver -- yet of what its construing? For surely hath something of sense to   
signal scorn withal. 

**Beren**:   
. . . 

**Nerdanel**: [interested]   
Worse, belike, than even "thrall," else "deceiver"--? 

**Beren**: [giving up -- very rushed]   
Please understand, ma'am, I didn't mean it literally and I wasn't even   
thinking about it when I said it and what it means is someone whose parents   
weren't married or not to each other only what we use it to mean most of   
the time is someone who goes out of the way to be a mean-hearted, envious,   
arrogant, troublemaker who deserves to be beaten into a bloody pulp. --Sorry. 

[she raises an eyebrow but says nothing] 

Like I said it's just an expression we use and I didn't mean when I said   
it that you . . . 

[he breaks off in embarrassment] 

**Nerdanel**: [frowning]   
Thou meanst to say, that thy folk might 'get and give forth children into   
Arda, without ever to bind soul to soul in unity as parents? Even as the   
kelvar? That one might have a dozen mates, or choose anew with the tide   
of spring each year? 

[completely humiliated, Beren nods] 

**Beren**:   
We don't think it's a good thing, but-- 

**Nerdanel**: [interrupting]   
Then thou needst not to have remained by Luthien, for all she was thy true-   
love, nay, neither before nor after thee and she were wed, but might even   
have gone from her to another's love, without thy mind and soul reft by   
madness, nor she to needs must die first--? 

**Beren**: [adamant]   
No. I mean -- yes, I did. Have to. 

**Nerdanel**:   
But I think that such was th'implicit burden of thy former words, or am I   
greatly uncomprehending of thee? 

**Beren**:   
I couldn't. Me. Maybe some other Man could've walked away from Tinuviel, but-- 

[he shakes his head] 

**Nerdanel**:   
Thou, at least, had other choice open to thee, to find other match, than set   
thy life for hazard and thy house with House alike in forfeit for thine only love. 

**Beren**:   
No. But yes. --I know it sounds crazy. 

**Nerdanel**:   
Dost speak to me, of madness? Madness I have seen, a-plenty: thine is small,   
and thy lady's less, by mine own accounting. 

**Beren**: [uncertain]   
You -- you don't think I'm crazy, then -- my lady? 

**Nerdanel**: [raising one eyebrow]   
That, I said not. 

[Beren frowns] 

**Beren**:   
Wait, shouldn't it be "Your Highness?" If Feanor's your husband, and he's   
the son of the first King, then wouldn't that make you a Princess as well? 

**Nerdanel**: [acerbic]   
Dost deem me mad, then, to care of this contention and striving after title,   
after aught of glory than work well-fashioned? My folk doth require none;   
stone requireth none; how shall I require it, as though else might not ken   
mine own self's self? 

[he is abashed] 

**Beren**:   
Sorry -- I didn't mean to insult you, ma'am. I was just trying not to. 

**Nerdanel**:   
Nay, then, neither doth offense be taken, that was not offered up. 

[pause] 

Elwe's daughter is far more blessed than ever she doth discern. 

[she turns her face away, but recovers her composure quickly.] 

I have heard rumour, that mine eldest hath suffered e'en such loss as thou,   
and would ask of ye, if thou'lt forgive the discourteousness of't, and blame   
me not for my presuming, if that be so or no? 

**Beren**: [answering first]   
Er -- yes. I'm afraid that is true. 

**Nerdanel**:   
I did not doubt it overmuch. 

[she sighs] 

Passing strange it is, that the first to wield blade amongst us should die   
first in battle, and firstborn should forfeit hand that did wield such blade,   
to blade's bite -- as though the earth itself were but a great balance and   
either land each pan, tilting across the Sea -- I speak mad fancies; I cry   
ye pardon, gentles. --Of thy pity, lord of Men, canst thou say to me how   
farest thou, then, that I might ken yet so small a part of my son's life,   
for-- 

[lifting her own hands and looking at them] 

--I cannot guess how 'twould be, to have naught save memory of limb, nor   
how I might easily compass all that should be needful, scanted thus, though   
I do confess I have oft thought upon it. 

[pause] 

**Beren**: [awkward but sympathetic]   
It's different for him. I mean, he's an Elf, and I'm not, and that was   
obvious and stupid for me to say. Ah. I mean, he's had a lot longer to   
get over it and your people heal better than we do anyway, and he's still   
a great warrior as well as leader of House Feanor in the east, kind of a   
legend. Well, not kind of a legend, a legend, and . . . 

[looking disgusted with himself] 

. . . both of those are things that you probably aren't too happy hearing   
about either. Sorry. 

[she looks at him with an odd expression, as if struggling to maintain a   
precarious balance between tears and laughter] 

**Nerdanel**:   
I do endeavor to comprehend how it must be for thee, that art so changed   
and forcibly set amid all that's strange to thee, and how it, and we,   
should all appear, that hast heard belike, yet not in same wise as we   
shall have heard of another here, and yet dost seek to comprehend in turn   
and maintain ever. --I confess I cannot. 

**Beren**:   
Not everything's strange, ma'am. I remembered what I was told about the King's   
aunt being wise and always willing to stand up for what she believed in. 

**Nerdanel**: [shaking her head]   
'Tis given me to understand, that untruth's far from possible within these   
walls, so then alike must flattery e'en be: therefore thy sincerity, at the   
least, might not gainsay. --I thank thee for thy courtesy, sir. 

[to the Doriathrin lord] 

Thy pardon, my lord, as well -- I fear I do leave thee daunted, thus forgrasping   
all this our discourse. Pray, do not hesitate thee from speech, but make free   
as thou wilt. 

**Ambassador**:   
Less overawed, my lady, than uncertain, at this juncture. I've had no choice   
but to see this Man through her vision, and I begin to think, -- little as   
I most certainly like it -- that -- perhaps we were in error. 

**Beren**:   
There's a lot of things I could say to that, but I won't. 

**Ambassador**: [holding his own, with an ironic half-bow]   
Thank you, milord. 

**Nerdanel**:   
Yet a third way that differest from mine husband, that didst give aside   
Silmaril as second to the price of love, and strove not to lead astray,   
nor didst not care that any might follow in thy despite regardless, and   
that for love, not vengeance nor of hate; that now dost willingly hold   
peace--! 

**Beren**: [whispering to the Steward]   
What did she just say? 

**Steward**: [quietly]   
That unlike Feanor, you know when to be quiet, sometimes. 

**Beren**:   
Oh. 

**Steward**:   
Also that you were neither indifferent to nor desirous of the fate of all   
who chose to accompany you. And gave up the Silmaril for your lady. 

[while Beren is still frowning] 

All of which are compliments, given the circumstances and their source,   
since you're yet doubtful, Lord of Beor. 

**Beren**:   
Okay. 

[to Nerdanel] 

Thanks. 

**Nerdanel**: [to the Steward]   
How hast changed, and yet hast not, and yet art all other than thou wert, in   
the Wild world beyond! 

**Beren**:   
Please don't insult him, ma'am. 

**Nerdanel**:   
Nay, nor did I, or is't insult in thy speech to say but that one has changed,   
from harshness and vainglory to gentleness of heart? 

**Beren**:   
No . . . 

[the Steward bows slightly] 

**Steward**:   
I believe that it is so, and do so hope, even as you speak, my lady. 

**Nerdanel**:   
I confess I must hold it a good thing, that thy heart's allegiance was at   
the last given unto my nephew, and not my son, else I deem this conversation   
should ne'er take place, nor thou stand guiltless of murder, nor find peace   
from battle hither. 

**Steward**: [very dry tone]   
Something of a most relative peace, my lady, I fear -- but indeed, your   
words, though sad, are in keeping with mine own thoughts as well. 

**Beren**: [breaking in]   
Hey, how come you're here? 

[as they all turn to stare at him] 

I mean, what about the meeting? How come you're not there, and what's going on? 

**Ambassador**:   
Talk -- much talk, and little else. 

**Beren**: [ironic]   
Well, yeah, it's a council -- that's what's supposed to happen at them.   
Anything else, you got a problem. 

[the Sindarin lord visibly bites back a return] 

**Nerdanel**:   
Nay, 'tis much talk of sundry things, and not so much as might be thought,   
of thee and thine own concerns, forasmuch as the gods' concern of all that   
is doth make the direction of the discourse to shift more indeed than e'en   
we Eldar at our conversing, and with less heed of time its passing. 

**Steward**:   
That is but half his question, my lady. 

[Nerdanel and the Ambassador share a wry Look] 

**Nerdanel**:   
Thy lady is most obdurate, and requireth no further assurance of the rightness   
of her course, the which is all that I might well provide. 

**Ambassador**:   
Our contributions were not considered relevant, milords. 

**Beren**: [dawning realization & growing amusement]   
You got thrown out. 

**Ambassador**:   
That is, I must say, rather an overstatement-- 

[Beren shakes his head, grinning] 

**Beren**:   
You -- got thrown out. 

[brief pause] 

That's great. That's just great-- 

[he laughs out loud, then struggles to control his expression] 

Sorry, ma'am, I wasn't being insolent to you, it's just that it finally   
happened to someone else -- especially from Doriath-- 

[with a sidelong Look at the Steward] 

--About time, eh? 

[unable to help himself, he starts laughing again, ducking behind the Steward's   
back until he can regain his composure] 

**Steward**: [without irony or embarrassment]   
Gentles, I entreat you excuse my friend, in consideration of the trials of   
his present and recent situation. 

**Ambassador**: [mildly]   
I endeavor to remind myself of his extreme youth, which renders it more   
comprehensible. 

**Nerdanel**: [very curious]   
In truth, he hath so few of days? 

**Steward**:   
Alas, yes. 

[over beside the pool, Huan is wriggling and whining quietly, with his tail   
going nonstop, while the Captain looks at him indulgently] 

**Captain**:   
You don't have to stay here any more. We needed you to be cover for Beren   
last time, but that doesn't matter now. Go say hello if you want. 

**Huan**:   
[sharp yip] 

**Captain**: [pushing his shoulder]   
Go on, don't be an idiot, you can go and greet her-- 

[the Hound gets up, but stands hesitantly, looking back at the Captain for   
reassurance] 

Go on-- 

[as if fired from a bow, the Lord of Dogs goes tearing across the Hall to   
where the others are standing] 

**Teler Maid**: [looking after Huan]   
You do like him greatly, even. 

[her former colleague nods apologetically] 

But you shouted at him much. To make him answer me fairly. 

[he nods again, and she puts her forehead down on her knees again -- it is   
clear she is crying, hidden behind her hair. He pats her on the head] 

**Captain**: [gently]   
You're not up to being shouted at, Curlew. 

[Huan comes skidding to a bouncing halt and looks adoringly at Nerdanel --   
the Ambassador flinches back, though this is not noticed by his companions.] 

**Nerdanel**: [sadly but fondly]   
Oh, thou Hound -- little had I thought to see thee so soon! 

**Beren**:   
You know each other? 

[realizing] 

Of course you do. 

**Nerdanel**: [to Huan, seriously]   
Alas, I have brought nothing -- I did not even ken thou shouldst abide   
here, ere I heard the story of thee and these thy rife adventures, hence   
have I neither dainty nor trifle for thy pleasing -- moreover I much   
misdoubt I might give unto thee, as thou presently art, withal. 

**Beren**: [trying to be helpful]   
You could pretend to throw something, he likes that -- then he pretends to   
bring it back, or he just brings back all kinds of stuff, like rocks or pine   
cones until you give up and tell him he's won . . . 

[he trails off at the increasing grief visible in her expression despite her   
struggle to control it] 

**Huan**: [panting, grinning]   
[attention-seeking whines] 

[Nerdanel unthinkingly reaches out to pat him, and her hand goes through his   
muzzle, making them both recoil violently, the Hound flinging up his head in   
Very Startled Dog alarm] 

**Nerdanel**:   
Oh--! 

**Huan**: [wild-eyed]   
[loud, repeated barking] 

**Steward**: [firm]   
Quiet, boy! 

**Nerdanel**: [covering her ears]   
Ai, yet else that hath not changed--! 

[Beren grabs the Hound's head like a horse's and pulls him down to shoulder   
height, making him stop for the moment] 

**Beren**:   
Why don't you go run up and down the Halls instead and work off some of   
that energy? 

[checking] 

I sound like a parent. --You go do that, and I'll whistle for you if we   
need you. Okay? 

[he lets go and whacks Huan on the flank, again as though shooing a horse out   
into the paddock, and the Hound bolts out the doorway, running low to the ground,   
ears trailing like a mad thing.] 

--Bet we're all thinking the same thing. 

**Steward**:   
I trust were any immediately without -- we should have heard the cries of   
dismay by now. 

**Nerdanel**: [shaking her head]   
I mind me not that he was even so vast, in th'old Day -- 

**Ambassador**:   
--That -- is Huan? That -- creature -- captured our Luthien? 

[he looks very shaken] 

**Steward**:   
I assure you he is Good and would not harm any of like mind. 

**Nerdanel**:   
Aye, for all my son did most lamentably indulge him in his whims, yon Hound   
hath ever most mannerly and gently midst folk displayed his temper. 

[she is still rather sniffly & blinking hard] 

**Beren**: [half to himself]   
I -- don't expect you will, but, hey, might as well offer -- um, you want   
to come sit down with us, and talk more sociably instead? 

[he gestures towards their encampment] 

**Ambassador**:   
I -- I think not, sir; the Hound has greatly unsettled my spirit. 

**Beren**:   
We won't let him jump on you when he comes back. Promise. 

**Ambassador**:   
. . . 

**Steward**: [shrewdly]   
Indeed, he is disquietingly like unto one, in seeming, at a glimpse. 

[Thingol's emissary draws himself up in useless pride, but does not deny   
the implication] 

**Beren**:   
Oh. --I didn't think about that. Sorry. We're all just so used to Huan,   
but you don't know him, and you just got killed -- not long ago, at least   
-- by the Wolf. You did good not to run when he came charging up like that. 

[silence] 

**Ambassador**:   
Your accent grates heavily; less so your intent of courtesy. 

**Beren**   
Er -- you're welcome. 

[doubtfully] 

So . . . what are you going to do? --Gentles. 

[Nerdanel is not missing any of the way her son's former friend reacts (and   
doesn't) to Beren's presence, and speaking, including taking control of the   
conversation, watching them both keenly. Now she replies, having managed to   
swallow her tears, and turns to include the Sindarin lord in her address:] 

**Nerdanel**:   
I, also, am even yet whelmed with the renewal of so many heart-deep griefs,   
and with such confounding news of the old land as ye have given to mine   
uncertain consideration -- if thou'ld be so kind, my lord, belike shalt   
companion me, and say unto me more, and fill the gaps of my comprehension   
with some measure of thine own informing; meanwhiles we shall but walk,   
and gaze upon the most strange and rare sights herein. 

[with a dash of her ordinary dry wit, nodding at the Ten] 

--Nor mean I ye, nor else of yonder company. 

**Beren**: [dubious]   
Well, okay, but -- there's not much here to see. Except the Loom, I guess. 

[she shrugs] 

**Nerdanel**:   
Then I trust we shall see it, shall not, upon our meanderings? 

[she holds out her hand to the Ambassador, in a gracious, careful, gesture,   
not quite taking his arm, but very definitely walking with him, not evincing   
any fear or repugnance at his ghostly state, though clearly under so much   
stress right now that a little more or less would hardly make much difference.   
The Steward lays his hand on Beren's shoulder to turn him back towards their   
own group, then pauses and calls to the daughter of his family's hereditary   
liege lord:] 

**Steward**:   
I must inform you, gentles, that the Lady of this Hall has most stringently   
requested that none should interfere with her Loom. 

[pause] 

**Nerdanel**:   
I confess myself much curious, whence such injunct be deemed necessary.   
--My nephew must be sorely galled by the command. 

[it is the Doriathrin Ambassador's turn to laugh out loud briefly, if much more   
temperately than Beren] 

Doubt not, we'll meddle not. 

[as they begin their walk, she looks back over her shoulder at the Steward, and   
says meaningfully] 

--Verily, youngling. 

**Steward**: [sighing heavily]   
That could have been far worse. 

**Beren**:   
Don't worry, I won't tell anyone you said that. 

[sighing in turn himself] 

Poor lady. 

[as the Steward frowns curiously at him] 

Saying Tinuviel was lucky, being married to me. 

**Steward**:   
I assure you, she was not referring to the brief duration of your match. 

**Beren**: [shrugging]   
Yeah -- and?   


* * *

**SCENE IV.xvi**

  
  
  
[Elsewhere: the Council chamber. Everyone looks tired and serious and frustrated,   
in a let's-buckle-down-and-solve-this-now sort of way -- even Luthien has largely   
given up being sarcastic.] 

**Luthien**: [shortly]   
Why do you think that having "fewer distractions" will help any? Nothing is   
going to change. You want me to give up Beren, I won't. There's no middle   
ground for us to reach. 

**Namo**:   
What do you think should be done? So far you've only stated negatives. 

**Luthien**:   
Not true -- I want him to stay with me. 

**Namo**:   
But you have no concrete suggestions for how that could be accomplished.   
Staying here as discorporate spirits is not a workable solution -- for   
either of you, willing or not. It isn't right, and it will end with him   
hating you, and vice versa. 

[pause] 

**Luthien**:   
All right, here's a concrete suggestion: consult your Queen and King for   
their advice. See what they say. 

**Orome**: [incredulous, leaning forward in his chair]   
You want us to ask Manwe and Varda for their opinion? 

[pause] 

Do you have any idea how long it would take to explain it all to them? 

**Luthien**:   
Oh, I don't think it would be very long at all. Don't they watch and listen   
to what happens everywhere in the world? I expect any parts they missed,   
Thorondor and his family would have told them about already. 

**Vaire**: [amused & appalled]   
Dear me, you really do think the heavens turn about you, child! 

**Luthien**:   
But you were all watching, mostly. Weren't you? 

**Aule**:   
Do you really -- without any reservation -- think this is of the same   
magnitude as the crisis following upon the Treeslaying? 

**Irmo**:   
Crises. 

[at the other Lord's frown] 

There were multiple separate situations. 

**Luthien**: [simply]   
It is to us. 

**Aule**: [to Irmo]   
It's all part of the same mess. 

**Irmo**:   
But there are distinct and several causes, though they are connected   
causally as well as chronologically. 

**Aule's Apprentice**:   
I fear I must agree with my Master, that it's a mistake to isolate and   
focus on selected incidents, without considering them as belonging to   
a centrality of causation -- namely, the sad case of Feanor. 

**Irmo**:   
But there's no making sense of the disaster if you merely lump it all   
together and blame it on the Eldar. 

**Orome**: [in his most matter-of-fact, annoying tone]   
Look, it's very simple. It all started when we let him out. Therefore   
-- we should never have let him out. I don't care what your sister says,   
she's just wrong. 

[this sets off a chaos of fellow deities all speaking, or shouting, at once] 

**Vaire**: [raising her voice over the fray]   
No, that's not true, Tav, Miriel's tragedy predated it-- 

[Luthien sighs, and leans her chin on her hand, not looking hopeful of any quick   
end to this. Accidentally she catches Namo's eye as he lurks behind his teacup,   
shaking his head at it all, and as he quirks his brow at her she snaps her head   
away, not wanting to admit to a commonality of any sort. After a moment, as if   
struck by a sudden thought, she scrambles forward and dipping a handful out of   
the light basin, proceeds to start finger-spinning it as if it were a ball of   
carded roving with the same intent, pensive look as someone doodling on a   
clipboard during an interminable board-meeting . . .] 

* * *

**SCENE IV.xvii**

  
[the Hall: beside the falls, where the story has apparently concluded for the moment]   


**Teler Maid**:   
I still cannot fathom it that none of your families stood by you, but only by. 

[pause] 

My lady will be most put out with Lord Orodreth. 

[the Captain chuckles at that, and she is affronted] 

I know that she shall, and I am most certainly right! 

**Captain**: [dismissive motion]   
Yes, yes, that's not why I'm laughing. I -- couldn't help but imagine the   
Prince's mother scolding him, and what they might say. 

**Steward**:   
It isn't at all funny. 

**Captain**:   
Oh, come on, can't you just hear Lady Earwen going-- 

**Teler Maid**: [louder and more emphatic]   
--But still less do I fathom it out that Lord Olwe's brother and his wife   
locked their child away -- has any one of ye ever heard of such a thing?!   
What right had they to do thusly? 

[on the other side of the Hall, where Nerdanel and the Ambassador are   
surveying the Loom, the Ambassador turns and looks over at her, then   
quickly pretends he didn't hear] 

If they did not approve of her chosen, then indeed had they right to say   
so, even as Lady Amarie's kinfolk, and make it clear wherefore they   
thought the choice not wise, or-- 

[looking directly at her ex] 

--as my own family -- and perhaps yours, for all your denials to them of   
intent towards me -- did make it clear, but to set a wall and a ward against   
their own, as were an enemy -- or as if they were of the Enemy, keeping   
her thrall! What have Elves come to, in the time between! 

**Steward**:   
In fairness, it was not until she threatened to follow Beren into Angband   
that the King and his counsel made such restraints upon the Princess, for   
her own safety. 

**Teler Maid**: [heated]   
So, they set themselves above the gods, then! For it is little different, I think,   
between his lady seeking to redeem him from the Enemy in a far-off land,   
and your lord Feanor seeking to rescue his treasures from the Enemy in   
distant journey-- 

[several of the Ten protest her use of the pronoun "your", but quietly] 

--and they did not stop you, nor seek to do so by other means than   
persuading words, and yet it was the same manner of dangers, that you   
did risk and she did risk, that they did lock her up! 

[somber silence] 

**Beren**:   
I hadn't thought of it that way. Her parents wouldn't like to hear it --   
but Tinuviel would agree with you, absolutely. 

**Teler Maid**: [sharply]   
And you do not? 

**Beren**: [dismayed]   
I didn't say that. 

**Teler Maid**:   
But did you not imply it? 

**Beren**:   
Um -- no. 

[aside] 

Wow, someone who's even more paranoid than I am-- 

[at his unintentional remark she snorts indignantly] 

**Captain**:   
Maiwe, calm down. Not everyone is out to get you. In fact, no one,   
here, is out to get you. 

[she looks away, scowling, just as the Youngest Ranger starts to attention and   
directs his companions' attention towards the door, through which now enter the   
Lord Seneschal of Formenos and the Lord Warden of Aglon -- but accompanied   
by some dozen or so extras, "gentles-at-arms," clearly looking for trouble. The   
Sea-elf freezes, looking ready to leap up and flee.] 

--Not even them. Actually, they're after me, most likely. 

[as the hostile shades approach] 

**Soldier**:   
What should we do, sir? 

**Captain**:   
Maintain a defensive perimeter -- that's what we're best at, after all, isn't it? 

[there are dark grins and laughter from several of the other Elves] 

**Ranger**:   
What about you, sir? 

**Captain**: [flexing his bad wrist carefully]   
I'll manage, if I must. But we'll try to keep it from getting that far. 

[he looks at Beren very seriously while the rest of the Ten get up and arrange   
themselves in a serried, if informal, rank against the intruders] 

You're going to stay here, and you're going to stay out of it. No arguments.   
I don't know what will happen if you get hurt, and the more I've thought   
about it the less I like the notion. You're taking no chances. Understood? 

**Beren**: [unhappy]   
Yes, sir. 

**Captain**:   
In fact, call Huan back -- he can do his job and look after you now. 

**Beren**:   
But-- 

**Captain**: [setting his hand on Beren's head as if talking to a much younger sibling]   
--You call him, or I will. The only options, lad. 

**Beren**: [nodding]   
Okay. 

[he whistles, several short, high notes, as if calling any ordinary dog, and remains   
kneeling by the waterside as the Captain rises, followed by the Elven girl.] 

**Captain**: [to his former colleague, just as seriously]   
Curlew, this could get -- rowdy. You probably don't want to be around   
for it, and I certainly don't want you hurt, even if you'll not leave this   
Circle for it. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Do not tell me what to do! 

**Captain**: [sad half-smile]   
I didn't. 

[turning away he goes to the center of the group, shouldering through to stand   
on the Steward's right, facing the Lord Seneschal. The Sea-elf tags along,   
hanging back a little, with a worried expression, but not willing to stay out of it] 

Quick learners. --Now why don't you learn even faster and stop this   
before you come out the worst again, eh? 

**Formenos**:   
Shall we hazard upon it, in your foreign custom, then? 

**Aglon**:   
My quarrel's not with you, anyway. 

[he is staring menacingly at the Youngest Ranger] 

**Captain**:   
As a matter of fact, it is. He acted but under my orders. 

[none of them appear to notice that the Doriathrin shade and the Noldor lady   
have left their sightseeing and come to stand at the side of the dispute,   
attending closely] 

**Aglon**:   
Nevertheless I'll not fight you, my lord. 

**Captain**: [approving]   
A prudent policy. 

**Formenos**: [cynical smile]   
And a prudent bluff, huntsman. The White Lady mentioned your clumsiness,   
and its consequences, and thus incidentally explained your carefulness to   
avoid outright combat at our last encounter. Thus -- we will not quarrel   
with you: our numbers are but to ensure fairness, that none should interfere   
in what passes. 

**Captain**:   
Then they will interfere with nothing, for the responsibility for what transpired   
is entirely mine, and I will not allow it to pass to those who but followed my   
commands. --Immortal or mortal. 

**Aglon**: [very proud]   
That may be, but I will not fight you, for my honor's sake, while you are   
injured. If you wish me to treat you as worthy adversary, restore yourself,   
and I will engage you, sir. 

[the shade from Alqualonde edges between the two subordinate Rangers,   
standing with her arms folded and an imperious look on her face] 

**Teler Maid**:   
What is this "honor" that I hear you speak so much of? Will it keep you   
from smiting me, then? 

[he makes a disdainful gesture] 

**Aglon**:   
I don't fight children. Or maidens. 

**Teler Maid**:   
I recollect otherwise. 

**Formenos**: [gallant & disarming - if you didn't know better]   
And who might this charming creature be? 

**Teler Maid**: [defiant]   
--"Collateral damage" -- I think that is what you have called us. 

**Formenos**: [shaking his head]   
I've never had dealings with your folk -- I was the first killed in Middle-   
earth, after our noble lord was foully murdered by the same demons   
that slew me. 

**Teler Maid**:   
False, false, false!!! 

**Formenos**: [frowning]   
Are you not his true-love, following him hither? 

[he nods towards the Youngest Ranger] 

**Teler Maid**: [indignant]   
I am from the Havens! Can you not tell the differences 'twixt us? 

**Formenos**:   
Ah. My error: I do apologize, that I did not at once recognize you one   
of the Calaquendi, if Latecomer. 

**Teler Maid**:   
You -- do make apology for misnaming me -- but not for killing me?   
What madness is this?! 

**Formenos**: [voice of reason]   
Blame your elders, for their selfishness, not us. Blame your king, not ours. 

**Youngest Ranger**: [shortly]   
You brought your troubles on yourself. 

**Aglon**:   
Go back to your trees, Dark-elf. --Or else fight me, if you wish to consider   
yourself truly Eldar. 

**Captain**:   
Now then, what's wrong with tr-- 

**Teler Maid**: [interrupting, sharply to the Feanorian lords]   
Do not -- not speak so! 

[she is so upset that she is stammering, but stamps her foot emphatically] 

**Formenos**: [bored]   
Be quiet, infant, and return to the Hall of Play. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Oh! 

[in the background, Finarfin and Amarie enter the Hall via the archway, together,   
and taking in the scene of conflict, come quickly over] 

**Aglon**:   
Well, boy, if you will not give me satisfaction by honorable duel, then I must   
take it as I can -- if you've the courage for it: is it not your people's way to   
flee from blows rather than return them, to fight from cover and to vanish   
before retribution falls? 

[the Sindarin Ranger does not answer him, except to clench his jaw, standing   
his ground, the tension in his companions rising as tempers are held forcibly   
in check] 

**Steward**: [slow emphasis]   
Leave -- him -- be. 

[the Lord Warden smiles and moves forward threateningly; while the nearer   
of the Ten move to grab him, the Sea-elf darts in between to obstruct his   
path completely, scowling up at the taller Noldor warrior.] 

**Teler Maid**:   
Go away! 

[the Warden of Aglon doesn't answer -- instead he takes her by the shoulder and   
spins her aside, continuing to push towards the Sindarin Ranger. Without another   
word, the Steward reaches to his right, rips the Captain's sword from its scabbard   
and runs the Feanorian through -- no flare, all business. The wounded Elf crumples   
to his knees as the blade is withdrawn, while his companions stare at the assailant   
quite aghast--] 

**Steward**: [cold]   
You should have listened. 

[several of the victim's friends kneel around him, trying to help him get up] 

**Formenos**:   
But -- he had not drawn yet! 

**Captain**: [disgusted]   
Sweet Cuivienen, can't you tell us apart, either? That's me, not him. 

**Formenos**: [shouting at the Steward]   
Where is your honor!?! 

**Steward**: [calm & obnoxiously complacent tone]   
If by honor you mean a willingness to be cheated without complaint -- I fear   
that remained with the rest of my belongings in Nargothrond. 

[raising an eyebrow] 

Anyone else wishing to try my patience? None? 

[he reverses the hilt and returns the Captain's sword with a gracious nod] 

--Much obliged, my lord. 

**Captain**: [loftily]   
Any time, any time-- 

[to the hostile Elves] 

--Dolts. 

[to the Steward] 

That was better, but you still leave yourself wide open laterally when   
you lunge that way-- 

**Amarie**: [outraged]   
Ai, what hast thou done?!? 

[giving up the effort, the Warden of Aglon vanishes with a final grimace of   
agony -- the Teler Maid shrieks, cutting it off at once by clapping her hands   
to her mouth. ] 

--Minion of the Enemy thou art in truth! 

[there is a moment of shock as everyone stares at each other, and the Ten realize   
who all was watching and what it looked like] 

**First Guard**: [to Amarie]   
Milady, it wasn't what it seemed-- 

**Steward**: [looking only at the Sea-elf's horrified expression]   
Yes, it was. 

[he shakes his head, laughing quietly and hopelessly] 

--Of course. 

**Formenos**: [enraged almost beyond speech]   
You-- 

[tries again] 

Indeed, you were well-disguised as Morgoth's vermin! I wonder that you   
needed any camouflage at all! 

**Nerdanel**: [tense]   
Thou seest the error of thy ways, then? 

[he does not look at her nor otherwise acknowledge her words] 

**Finarfin**: [very harshly]   
I am most grieviously disappoint in thee, young sir. 'Tis well thou art   
restrained, within these Hall's confine, and all such destroying souls. 

**Captain**: [earnest]   
But you really shouldn't count this against him, my lord, as if he too were   
no more than a Kinslayer, because none of it was real. 

**Finarfin**:   
Upon the contrary -- though thy loyalty aye deserveth praise -- nor thou   
nor he can answer me that 'twas not done in th'intent of the deed its fullness,   
nor that the wish and will of't was to act and it were most potently the very   
blade 'gainst yon rival's flesh, save merely that these phantasmic figurations   
must needs serve in place for ye. 

[looking sternly at the Steward, who is still gazing in bleak dismay at the   
Teler Maid, who has recovered somewhat from her emotions at the mayhem   
and is staring at him with a very troubled expression of mingled revulsion   
and worry] 

--Nay, canst thou, Enedrion? For thou didst belie me with the truth, but   
not the full of it, when at our first meeting thou didst make of merest need   
but virtue, nor confess that thou might not speak other than of truth, to   
set thyself higher in my estimation. 

**Steward**: [hollowly]   
Indeed, your words are true, my lord Finarfin -- all of them. 

**Captain**: [still more earnestly]   
But he wouldn't have done it, if it would have had any real effect on that nitwit. 

[No one denies this assertion] 

**Amarie**: [tightly]   
Mayhap -- yet still 'twas a deed most harsh, violent, and bloody-- 

[glancing at the entirely-unmarked floor, grimacing, and is forced to add:] 

--in yon ghostly fashion. 

**Formenos**: [savagely]   
I'll serve you now in kind, Enedrion-- 

[he draws his sword, advancing on the Steward, who does not pay any attention to him] 

**Nerdanel**:   
Nay, answer me, that didst answer to me in the Day, and wast even Keeper   
of our household stores, when yet was peace in Tirion! 

[she moves to bar his way, her eyes flashing indignation, but he still ignores   
her -- even though refusing to admit her presence means he must walk right through   
her, (sfx) leaving her mute with shock and anger] 

**Captain**: [blocking the Seneschal of Formenos far more effectively]   
You don't exist, my lady -- as far as they're concerned. Sorry about that-- 

[to the other warrior] 

--Not you. 

**Formenos**:   
I will not fight you unprovoked, and play into your games, King's Fool. 

**Captain**:   
All right. 

[smashes him hard across the face, backhanded, almost knocking him over] 

How's that? 

[with a roar of fury, the Lord Seneschal rallies, so quickly the Captain barely   
has time to get his blade free and parry -- but he does. If the hits taken in   
the last duel are bothering him, it isn't obvious, as they "have at it" in a flurry   
of blows in the suddenly-widening circle that forms around them. Beren   
leaps to his feet, but obeys orders, though his anguish at doing so is obvious;   
the Teler Maid covers her ears, wincing at each blow, just as distressed   
as the human, if not for exactly the same reasons.] 

**Finarfin**: [shocked but not at all uncertainly]   
--Hold!!! 

[there is Power in his word as well as anger: in momentary surprise the   
combatants stop, but only for a moment -- although the Captain obeys,   
the Seneschal presses the advantage, forcing him upon the defense again] 

**Captain**:   
Sorry, Sir-- 

[they set to savagely again, no quarter on either side, just the same kind of   
ruthless fighting as against Eol earlier; the Captain stumbles, and this time   
it's no "accident" -- but as the Feanorian lord moves in for the kill his   
sword-hand is transfixed with a very real-seeming arrow, and as he tries   
to recover with his left, looking as all do to the source of the shot, his   
opponent regains his footing and presents once more no easy target.   
The Youngest Ranger is kneeling with another arrow nocked and already   
set to loose.] 

**Youngest Ranger**: [terse]   
Next time, your eye. 

[there is a pause, a sort of momentary truce, or rather recognition of impasse,   
and one of the other supporters of House Feanor comes up and sets about   
drawing the arrow, casting the pieces aside into thin air.] 

**Formenos**: [disgusted]   
--Damnéd archers! No honor whatsoever. 

[both the Ambassador and Amarie start to say something, but whatever it is   
is cut off by the baying from without, as Huan returns -- with rider. As the   
Lord of Dogs and the Lord of Caves make their dramatic entrance, five   
very bemused law-abiding Eldar alternate staring from each other to the   
newly-arrived to the denizens who seem to regard this as nearly, if not   
the height of normality.] 

**Nerdanel**: [aside]   
Hall of Play, in truth! 

[Finarfin gives her a surprised Look; explaining:] 

Hath not any ridden Huan since of thine and mine the youngest were little   
more than babes. 

[her brother-in-law nods ruefully, as his eldest son's ghost dismounts and   
strides over, looking around first to make sure that Beren is all right, as   
Huan plows through everyone else, still barking fit to raise the roof, to   
get to Beren himself] 

**Finrod**:   
Would anyone care to explain to me what's going on? 

[there is a chaos of everyone talking at once -- the Lord Warden of Aglon   
remanifests to make his case personally, much to the startlement of the   
living witnesses; Finrod waits until the roar dies down somewhat.] 

Now, -- would anyone care to explain to me what's going on? 

**Steward**:   
There were words, escalating towards blows. I struck first. All else   
followed from that. 

**Finrod**:   
Whence the provocation? 

**Steward**: [before anyone else, and louder]   
From both sides. 

**Formenos**:   
No insult had been offered you, you slave of a slave, but you cut him   
down without warning nonetheless! 

**Amarie**: [earnest]   
Though little had I e'er thought, that I should speak in such as that one's   
just defense, he doth speak truly: 'twas a blow most villainous and cruel   
-- if 'tis not falsehood in its own right, to imply withal that any might be   
otherwise! 

**Aglon**: [furious]   
And I will take my recompense in the same way, d'you hear?! 

**Steward**: [chill calm]   
I will accept such, if it is my lord's decree. 

[the Teler Maid stares at him, her face frozen] 

**Aglon**:   
As if he'd ever give fair judgment against any of his own! 

[loud jeering and countering from the Ten, matched by their Feanorian   
opponents, with even a few barks from Huan added in; Finrod holds up his   
hand for silence, and there is instant attention from all, adversaries and   
supporters alike] 

**Finrod**:   
The temptation is strong to take the way of water and avoiding resistance   
give you both what it is you wish-- 

[looking at the Warden] 

--to you, satisfaction of your anger, and to you, 

[turning to the Steward] 

--expiation, of yours. But -- 

[smiling grimly, to the Warden] 

--in no small measure is that owing to the desire to let you make a poorer   
showing than you already have, disgracing yourself in the sight of the living   
and the dead, as well as the gods. Which is not justice, at all. 

[he shakes his head] 

No, it is too complicated. I cannot decide: I must defer this entirely to a   
higher authority. 

**Formenos**: [snorting]   
I trust your uncle to give us fair hearing no more than I trust you, Finarfinion. 

**Finrod**: [still graciously]   
Not the High King, I'm afraid -- I meant an authority that outranks all of us,   
living or dead, royal or no. Take your complaint of my people's conduct to   
Lord Namo or his Lady, and let them judge it, and whatever finding is theirs   
in this matter, we will submit to -- however little it is to our liking. 

[he matches stares with the chief lords of House Feanor's supporters in Mandos,   
and does not give any sign of uncertainty, until finally after a long moment, the   
Lord Seneschal, still cradling his right arm, nods to his people and the hostile   
contingent storms out in a jostling, angrily-glaring mob. To the Ten:] 

Sorry, that took a lot longer than I expected. I see you've got things under   
control, though. Good idea sending Huan for me right away. 

**Captain**:   
Er, well, actually-- 

**Finrod**:   
Oh -- more of his own initiative, I take it? 

**Captain**:   
He didn't tell you? 

[his lord chuckles briefly, thinking it's only a joke. Beren, with Huan at   
heel, comes up quietly now that the immediate danger is past, not interrupting] 

**Ambassador**:   
So easily you dismiss them, Sire, and have full confidence they will not   
return when your guard is down, to take the vengeance they hold to be   
their own? --And yes, I am here, and would rather not be, whatever   
possible construction you wish to place upon that statement, and I have   
equal confidence in your Majesty's courtesy and intuition revealing my   
wish not to dwell upon any particulars of it. 

[Finrod gives him a pensive Look, but honors his request, answering him   
only (while maintaining an aloof disinterest in his family members standing   
nearby)] 

**Finrod**:   
Oh, they won't take it any further. They'd have to explain to the Lord   
of the Halls, in detail, you see, and even for them it would be difficult to   
justify their motivations, and so they'll simply drop it. --They might bring   
it up again when the next trouble starts-- 

[looking at the Steward] 

--and you'll probably never hear the end of it. 

**Steward**:   
My lord, I-- 

**Finrod**: [putting a hand on his shoulder]   
If they succeeded in provoking you, it must have been bad. I trust -- that   
your conscience is more than equal to any reprimand I might bestow on   
you, my friend. 

[he turns to look at the others -- and frowns in amazement] 

What are you doing here, Maiwe? 

**Teler Maid**: [bitterly]   
Trailing about after him, what else to expect? 

**Finrod**:   
--Oh. 

[he starts to ask further, then defers it for later. To the others:] 

What's been going on, while I've been busy elsewhere? 

**Steward**:   
Your brother Aegnor returned and provided us with some diverting   
moments, I fear. 

**Finrod**: [sighing]   
Yes, I've given him a bit of a talking-to about that. I don't think it'll happen   
again. Anything else? What set that lot off? 

**First Guard**:   
They came looking for trouble and found it. The Lord Seneschal's flunkey   
went to kick Beren for -- if you'll believe it, my lord -- discourtesy. 

**Finrod**: [with an angry snort]   
What then? 

**Youngest Ranger**: [embarrassed at drawing attention to himself]   
I -- Sire, I -- I knocked him down and bashed him in the knee. But the other   
way round. That's why he wanted -- wanted to challenge me. 

**Finrod**: [warmly]   
Good job. Don't worry about it -- either of you-- 

[he looks at the Steward] 

--they won't take it further, I'll warrant. And if they do, we'll deal with   
it then. I need a volunteer for a quick errand, now-- 

**Finarfin**:   
What dost thou presently, indeed? 

[pause] 

**Finrod**: [very guarded tone]   
Why do you ask? 

**Finarfin**   
I had but concern, for these thine own concerns, that seeketh to fulfill its   
own lack by learning how all doth transpire, perchance to aid. 

[longer pause] 

**Finrod**: [formal politeness, undercut by irony]   
The concerns of the dead are not yours, Sire, nor, I believe, is there   
anything your will may accomplish here. --Unless you claim Lord   
Namo's role here in addition to your own lawful title -- which I   
somehow doubt is the case. 

**Finarfin**:   
Nay, my son -- I seek to compel thee not. 

[they stare at each other for a brief moment, taut and unhappy; but this time   
their position is subtly reversed, with Finrod being the one giving stinging   
barbs and Finarfin the wary, restrained recipient of them.] 

**Finrod**: [turning back to his following]   
All right then, who among us is worst at chess? All forms of it -- and doesn't   
like it, either. It's no good if he can tell you enjoy learning, you'll never   
break free. 

[the Third Guard steps forward, and Finrod gives an approving nod.] 

Please go and ask my uncle to come here, without delay, as a favour to   
me. Phrase it as graciously as you can, but make sure it's clear that   
I need him to come talk to me now, not six hundred years from now, and   
I do mean here. Er -- not in those words, of course. 

[the Guard bows and hurries off, leaving Finrod to deal with his family and   
others. He looks at them a bit warily, recognizing that there is something   
going on, but not having any information as to the source of their (additional)   
tension. Polite:] 

Did you wish to speak to me, father? 

**Finarfin**: [equally]   
An thou'lt not converse upon thy present concerns, belike thou might   
willingly relate some account of thy kingdom, yon realm that thou didst   
found for thyself upon the other shore, and the workings of thy rule. 

**Finrod**: [bemused]   
You want to hear about Nargothrond? I shouldn't have thought you'd be   
interested in the forbidden doings of a bunch of rebels, now. 

**Nerdanel**:   
Nay, but ever must parents wonder and yearn for word of children's faring,   
doubt it not, though thou hast none. 

[there is an awkward moment] 

**Finrod**: [clapping his hands together]   
Very well, why don't we make ourselves comfortable over there and we   
can try to give you something of an idea, at the least, of what we've been   
up to on the other side of the Sea. 

[he gestures towards the Falls, and there is another awkward moment, as   
the four guests look at each other, and at him, uncomfortable but not willing   
to be the first to speak.] 

Is there a problem, then? 

**Captain**: [smoothly interjecting]   
I'm rather afraid that milord your father is overwhelmed by our inability   
to recount tales singly and in good order, your noble aunt still very much   
unsettled by so many houseless spirits, your lady wife wishing us very   
much still at the other side of the Sea, or better yet the bottom of it, and   
your royal uncle's servant thinking nigh the same of the Beoring. Have I   
read the situation aright, gentles all? 

[four rather chill Looks would seem to indicate so] 

**Finrod**: [wry]   
This is as bad as diplomacy back home. I might as well not have died, for   
all the good it did me. Very well, then-- 

[he looks around, oblivious to the reflexive flinches of his family and the background   
collecting of a wager by the Youngest Ranger, and shakes his head] 

I'm afraid there are only the two chairs, and I really don't dare move them-- 

[brief expressions of confusion are replaced by utter bemusement as they realize   
which "chairs" he is referring to] 

--so it seems there is only the rather rustic alternative over there-- 

[pointing to the hill] 

--if you do not find that unacceptable. 

**Ambassador**:   
Surely none of our race could ever object to the comfort of the greensward,   
but one must ask of direst curiosity -- whence comes a piece of the growing   
earth to enliven these sunless Halls? 

**Finrod**:   
A gift, lent by the grace of Lady Nessa, I hear tell. 

[with a polite, edged smile to Amarie] 

It is both real, and untainted by any rebellious craftsmanship, my lady-- 

[her lips tighten, but she does not retort] 

**Nerdanel**: [firmly]   
--Nephew. Keep thy private quarrels to home. --Thou kennst well what   
I do intend; moreover, herein lieth not thy true home. 

[he stops, forestalled before he can respond, a touch chagrined.] 

**Finarfin**: [soothing]   
Ample accommodation, in truth, and a most pleasant spot, yon turfen hill -- to   
which, gentles, let us repair, that we may hear the wondrous and most strange   
news from the land of our Awakening. 

[with a shepherding gesture he takes Amarie's hand and motions the others   
to accompany them, allowing no room for objection] 

**Beren**: [aside to Finrod]   
Is this? -- I mean -- you -- you know- 

[looking over at Finarfin and the others, raising his eyebrows] 

**Finrod**: [blunt]   
No, I'd rather be thrown off a cliff than deal with them, as you correctly   
surmise. But in courtesy, they can't be left to their own devices, and   
absent any higher authority to foist them off on, it falls to me to entertain   
them. Don't worry, I'll survive -- so to speak. 

[squaring his shoulders, he assumes a look of determined pleasant calm and   
goes to play the part of the lordly host among welcome guests, leaving worried   
companions behind] 

**Beren**: [alarmed, aside to the Steward]   
Does he know? 

**Captain**:   
Know what? 

**Beren**:   
--He doesn't, does he? 

[narrowing his brows, the Steward shakes his head] 

**Steward**:   
I do not see how it is possible he should. 

**Beren**:   
I bet his dad's not going to say anything, either. 

**Captain**:   
Oh-h. 

[he grimaces, glancing quickly over to the hill] 

**Beren**: [looking across and back]   
This isn't good. --Do you think that all of 'em know? 

[the Steward follows suit as well] 

**Steward**:   
Most probably. 

[Beren & the Captain wince] 

**Beren**:   
Except him. Nothing we can do about it, though, is there? 

**Steward**: [nodding towards the rest of the Ten & companions]   
No, save trouble our friends to no purpose by our conversing on it. 

[the Sea-Elf, suspicious, comes up to their urgent consultation and demands:] 

**Teler Maid**:   
Do you talk of me? 

**Captain**: [gently]   
--No. 

[to Beren] 

I don't think there's anything we can do, that won't make things more   
difficult than less all round. 

**Steward**: [shaking his head]   
I see no discreet way of imparting the information to our lord at present. 

[the Elven-maid continues to stand there, with a chafing expression, caught in   
the awkward state of bystanding a conversation without belonging to it and not   
wanting to go away in embarrassment or to cause a scene; she looks up   
frowning darkly at the Steward, who glances down at her in the same moment,   
and very seriously moves aside a little, leaving a deliberate place for her. After   
a moment she steps in a little closer, her arms folded, still wary and half-outsider] 

**Beren**: [frowning]   
Hm. 

**Teler Maid**: [after another hesitation]   
What would you have him know? 

**Beren**:   
He doesn't know that they didn't know what happened to us and now they   
know, and they don't know that he didn't know they didn't know, and that   
now they know. And they said things to each other that they probably   
wouldn't have if they'd known -- mostly his dad. And Amarie. And now   
he's saying stuff back, and they're not going to know what to say. 

[longish pause] 

**Teler Maid**:   
I could go and say that someone needs him without, and then tell him   
myself when we are from here. 

**Captain**:   
Yes, but then they're bound to ask him what the matter was, when he   
gets back, and it's the same problem, I'm afraid. 

**Beren**:   
Good idea, though. 

**Captain**:   
Nothing for it but to hope Himself doesn't say anything too sharp, before   
a chance to apprise him comes along. 

[he shakes his head, sighing] 

**Beren**: [deadpan]   
He might figure it out anyway. He's pretty smart. 

[the Elven-girl looks at him strangely] 

**Teler Maid**:   
That is a most simple and manifest thing to say -- yet I do not think you   
are simple of wit -- so why say you what all well know, that Lord Ingold   
is most wise and clear-sighted? 

[Beren shrugs, a bit embarrassed] 

**Captain**:   
That's more mortal humor. 

[pause] 

**Teler Maid**:   
'Tis strange. 

**Captain**:   
It is indeed. 

[pause] 

**Teler Maid**: [frowning, changing the subject]   
What is that matter of chess Lord Ingold did speak of? For I think it   
must be a pastime, but I know it not. 

[Beren and the Captain share a Significant Look, while the Steward covers his   
face with his hand] 

**Beren**:   
I think we can find someone to teach you. 

**Steward**:   
--No. That would not be prudent. 

[as the Sea-elf looks at him with an uncertain expression half between automatic   
outrage and wariness, Beren is the picture of injured innocence] 

**Beren**: [bewildered]   
I wasn't talking about you. I don't know why in the world you would think   
I was meaning you, sir -- it's like you think I've got nothing better to do   
than cause trouble for you-- 

[the Steward gives him an eyebrow-raised Look of arctic frostiness, while he   
continues to protest disingenuously] 

**Teler Maid**: [to the Captain, decidedly]   
'Tis very strange indeed. 

**Beren**:   
--I mean, we all know how to play chess, I don't see why-- 

**Steward**: [curious, resting his hands on the mortal's shoulders]   
--Beren, what would you do, if I did indeed answer you as from your tales   
you would expect your cousins to have answered such incessant japery,   
by half-wringing your neck in jest or impelling you beneath the outlet of   
yonder cascade? 

[pause -- Beren looks up at the much-taller shade thoughtfully.] 

**Beren**:   
I'd win, on account of having made you respond without using any words again. 

[brief pause] 

**Steward**:   
--Hina. 

[he brushes his knuckles lightly against Beren's cheek, almost smiling, and   
turns to the falls, going over to where Finrod left his harp -- instead of   
sitting down apart, however, he carries it to where their comrades are   
waiting, uncertain as to what's all going on, and takes his place in their   
midst, to their obvious pleasure, and begins to play very quietly.] 

**Teler Maid**: [troubled]   
Why does it misgive you not, that he dismiss you as but a child? 

[Beren shakes his head] 

**Beren**:   
Kinsman. 

**Teler Maid**:   
No -- the word is child, in their speech-- 

[she nods sharply, including the Captain and all the Ten (& even Huan) in her   
gesture, all of her insecurities coming to the fore in her tone] 

**Beren**: [gently]   
But it means kinsman, when he says it to me. 

[she looks back and forth to see if they're teasing her, and then across at   
the Steward, providing background music for the warriors' conversation and   
games, and appears distraught.] 

C'mon, somebody over here can teach you how to play chess, if you really want. 

**Teler Maid**: [fretful]   
I do not know what I want. 

[but she accompanies them back to the waterside nonetheless.]   


* * *

**SCENE IV.xviii**

  
[Elsewhere: the council chamber] 

[Vaire, Irmo, Aule, Orome, and Aule's Assistant are all leaning forward in their   
chairs talking animatedly, while Namo sits back with an abstracted frown   
on his face, clearly thinking about something entirely different from their   
argument. Luthien is crosslegged on the floor next to the bowl of silver   
light, working intently on what looks rather like a cats'-cradle, except   
that when she lets go of the shining strands, they remain as if floating on   
water while she moves the other threads across them. She is not paying   
any more attention to the debaters than they are to her, at the moment . . .] 

**Irmo**:   
Yes, and doesn't that give you pause? The fact that someone who thinks   
that every problem can be solved by beating something up agrees with   
you? Ordinarily you wouldn't be claiming Tulkas' opinion as legitimizing   
your own! 

**Aule**: [growing impatience, waving his forefinger didactically]   
I didn't say that the fact that he agrees with us proves that we're right.   
I only mentioned his support as an example of the fact that diverse opinions   
-- and diverse personalities, and diverse viewpoints -- were united against   
the opposing position. Which-- 

[another emphatic gesture] 

--should indicate to some small degree that Nienna's stance was untenable   
and her overly-optimistic assessment of that wretch's state of mind should   
have been discounted by them from the beginning-- 

**Vaire**: [speaking over him]   
--Aule, it really isn't fair of you to characterize her position when Nia isn't   
here to articulate it for herself-- 

**Orome**: [frowning]   
--Why isn't she here? I don't understand it at all -- this is exactly the kind   
of situation where one would expect her to be in the thick of it, trying to   
smooth things over and make everybody happy-- 

[Namo looks up at the door, just as Nienna's Apprentice enters, looking a little   
wild-eyed but not quite as stressed as before] 

**Nienna's Apprentice**:   
You called me, Sir? --Er, there's been no news from the search teams yet-- 

**Namo**:   
Forget about that -- for now. I don't mean that literally, either. I just have   
something else I want you to look into for me. 

[he manifests a rolled scroll and holds it out to the Apprentice] 

You wanted to go dig in the Archives, well, you've got your wish. Get to   
it -- I want everything you can find about what's on there, as fast as you   
can find it. 

**Apprentice**:   
But-- 

**Aule's Assistant**: [shaking his head, very much in imitation of his Lord's manner and tone]   
Honestly, Olorin, I swear you're never contented. No wonder you can't settle down. 

[the other gives him a quick, disheartened look, but pulls himself together.] 

**Apprentice**: [to Namo]   
Yes, my Lord. But -- what about keeping an eye on the stone? 

**Namo**:   
Get someone else to look after it -- or why don't you give me that toy of   
yours and then we won't have to worry about you forgetting while you're   
doing something else. 

[silently the Apprentice gives him the "sympathetic" version of the palantir and   
takes the list instead; Namo looks at the shiny bead doubtfully.] 

It does work, you're sure of it? 

**Apprentice**:   
Erm -- I don't see why it shouldn't, at least. 

**Namo**: [flatly]   
Great. Just -- take care of this stuff quickly. And don't get distracted   
and start looking up unrelated things, all right? 

[turning back towards the door, his sister's student nods gloomily.] 

**Vaire**: [looking over from the discussion]   
Oh, and tell that dog of Tav's to stop running up and down the Halls   
barking, there's a dear, he's making my headache worse than it already is. 

**Apprentice**: [to the room at large, with exaggerated patience]   
Anybody want anything else while I'm at it? Cosmic harmony, anyone?   
The Silmarils? Just one, perhaps? 

**Luthien**: [bland]   
Just my husband, thanks. 

[she looks up with a raised eyebrow as his expression becomes briefly   
chagrined, but then he winks, quickly, so that her expression changes to a   
puzzled frown as she watches his departure.] 

**Orome: **[picking right back up where they left off]   
Now, if you ask me, what Varda should have done instead was . . . 

* * *

  
  
_[to be continued...]_


	7. Act IV part III Scenes IV V through xvi

**ACT IV. BELOVED FOOL: BEYOND THE WESTERN SEA**   
**(Part III)**   


* * *

  
**SCENE IV.xix**

  
  
  
[the Hall: the Ten and Beren are teaching the Sea-elf how to play chess,   
while over on the Hill Finrod is sitting on the grass with an air of assumed   
nonchalance in the midst a group distinguished by extreme discomfort,   
where none of the participants are at ease with each other for a spectrum   
of reasons, ranging from guilt to anger to distaste for witnessing family   
tension to conversing with the dead/the living, and the peace is extremely   
fragile--] 

**Finarfin**:   
For how long didst thou hold sway over the Havens of Balar, then? 

**Finrod**: [shaking his head]   
No, I thought I made that clear -- we were allied with the coasts, and   
maintained the defenses at Brithombar and Eglarest as well as as improving   
the shipyards in the south, but I never administered those areas. Lord   
Cirdan and I were friends, but he was never my subject; it would have   
been absurd for one as inexperienced as I, and a foreigner, to claim   
dominion over the Sea-elves of Beleriand on the grounds of being their   
former King's grandson! I gave him counsel, sometimes, as he advised   
me well in turn. 

**Finarfin**:   
Indeed, and wert thou not most singularly counselled in the course of   
thy reign throughout? 

[they both glance at the group by the falls, briefly, and Finrod becomes   
very stern] 

**Finrod**:   
I bestowed my trust on those who proved themselves trustworthy, and   
authority on those who showed themselves fit to wield it. If they are not   
the most easy-tempered of Elves, what of it? I know you consider them   
responsible, like everyone else who didn't turn back with you, and a bad   
influence -- but you really don't grasp what things were like in the Old   
Country, how much work there was to be done, and how little ready   
resources to do it with-- 

[leaning forward, intense] 

--and especially what the Crossing was like. I needed every trustworthy   
and willing soul I could get. I used my siblings' help when I could -- but   
they had their own domains to administer and Work to do, and I couldn't   
go yanking them off that whenever I needed something looked into. And   
I never did figure out how to be in three places at once. Nor had I your   
option, of delegating or diverting delicate matters of negotiation and   
personal conflict to my partner and co-ruler. So I'll thank you, Father,   
not to speak slightingly of those friends who did stay loyal to me. 

[Finarfin looks down, not saying anything in his own defense] 

**Amarie**: [taut]   
They are rebels, notwithstanding. 

**Finrod**:   
Yes. We are. 

[she looks away, fiddling with her sash, and he does not pursue the matter --   
instead he turns to his elders with an air of innocent curiosity:] 

So -- were you engaging in yet another instance of sibling rivalry   
with us, or was it purely coincidental that we've got the largest   
families of anyone in Valinor, at least as things stood when we left? 

**Finarfin**:   
Thy query is past comprehending, child. 

**Finrod**: [to his father]   
Of course it could simply be that Grandfather wanted a lot of kids,   
and you all simply took it for granted as something to strive for,   
internalizing it without realizing it, and nothing deliberate about   
it, but-- 

[to his aunt] 

When my cousins and I were -- not friends, as it after proved, but   
friendly -- we started wondering, after Cur pointed out the respective   
ages and we did up a comparison table, and they remarked on how   
exceptionally pleased you two were when the twins were born, as if   
something had been definitively settled, that you'd gotten so far   
ahead that no one else could catch up. 

[she gives him a very frosty Look] 

**Nerdanel**:   
Thine other uncle hath also more children than most commonly is custom. 

**Finrod**: [blithely]   
We know. I've asked him, but he just ignores the question. 

[shrugs] 

I suppose it could just be coincidence, but there does seem to be   
something in the fact that there do seem to be these batches of   
cousins all right around the same time in our House. 

**Nerdanel**: [quellingly]   
Nay, is it yet more of yon quaint fashion of speech from the Old   
Country? for surely thou dost not mean to speak of people as were   
loaves, else cakes--? 

**Finarfin**: [even more quelling]   
Finrod -- what, deemst thou, thy mother should say unto such   
malapert inquiring? 

**Finrod**: [shrugs]   
I've no idea. That's why I'm asking, because I haven't any way of   
knowing whether it's the truth, and since she isn't here and you   
two are, I'm asking you instead. 

**Nerdanel**:   
Thy manners improvéd not at all in the Old Country. 

**Finrod**: [cheerful]   
I must have lost them back there, too. 

[silence] 

**Ambassador**:   
Majesty, it is not gracious to make light of the matter of unhousing   
-- not all of us have had the same leisure to grow accustomed to the   
business, and such jests are most distressing. 

[the living Elves look relieved that another shade has raised the issue   
where they might not.] 

**Finrod**:   
Sorry. I meant my wits, as it happens. I hear so many witty remarks   
made concerning my lack of sanity on, for lack of better phrasing,   
a daily basis, that it seemed the obvious comparison to me. 

[cheerful] 

So -- were you all having some sort of an artistic competition, then? 

[the camera leaves them and moves to focus on the chess-lessons, where   
the Teler Maid is playing against the Captain, who is presently glaring   
at Beren, who is kneeling down next to the board watching] 

**Captain**:   
Please don't tell me what I should be doing. --Even if you're right.   
And nobody go quoting stupid sayings about things coming and going   
around, either. 

**Teler Maid**: [her brows narrowing as she stares at the board]   
I do not care much for this game. 

[the Youngest Ranger is sitting beside her, advising her on moves] 

**Youngest Ranger**: [encouraging]   
You're doing quite well, for a beginner, truly. 

**Teler Maid**:   
That is not my meaning. In this fashion of it, there is no way to win,   
unless another does die. 

**Beren**:   
Yeah, that's . . . sort of what happens, in war. Which this is based   
on, I'm afraid. 

**Teler Maid**: [shaking her head]   
But might it not happen, that from thinking this so like to war, that   
one might come to think of other Elves-- 

[looks at Beren] 

--or Men -- as but such small pieces to be set here and there, and   
in harm's way, and so to be knocked aside without regret, so that the   
purpose of winning be attained? 

[dramatically she flips one of the pawns over with a snap of her fingers   
to reinforce the point, as if shooting a very large marble] 

**Captain**: [blinking]   
Erm -- I don't see how. It's but a game, after all. 

**First Guard**: [disturbed but definite about his answer]   
No, I'm -- sure, it -- isn't possible that any of us should come to   
such a point, where the loss of life meant nothing whatsoever -- that   
would be unthinkable, Maiwe. There would be no difference between us   
and the Enemy's minions at that point. 

**Teler Maid**:   
You were not killed by your own folk. 

**Captain**:   
Not directly. 

**Teler Maid**:   
And does that not but go to show my sayings' truth, that you were set   
aside without regret by others, that did not care enough to care of your   
deaths as if they were their own?! 

**Captain**: [patient]   
There was a Curse invoked, Curlew, and a great deal of other currents   
involved in that turn of affairs. 

[at his words she tosses her head and looks over at the Steward] 

**Teler Maid**:   
And what do you say, my learnéd lord? Think you my notion's but   
folly, as well? 

[the Captain winces at her words; the Steward does not answer at once,   
but instantly stops the strings, making it clear that he's paying   
attention and thinking about it first] 

**Steward**: [carefully]   
It is true that of those who rebelled against our lord, were many   
who favoured the board as a means of honing skills of strategy,   
beyond mere diversion; but at the same time it is no less true that   
the game was unknown, to those who first committed the sacrilege   
of murder against our people. 

**Teler Maid**:   
That is two answers -- which is to say, none at all! 

**Steward**: [nods]   
Indeed, in former days I should have said at once -- Absurd, to think   
that a mere pastime might change the reasoning mind, a mere thing that   
thought employs itself about, as though the wax might shape the burin   
that sculpts it equally, though it be soft and bronze or agate hard.   
But now upon reflection it comes to me that it is true, that what is   
carved does indeed chafe and shape the tool that works it, for its   
respective hardness and softness thereof, and perhaps in like fashion   
the mind should be affected, pendant upon the self's own powers and   
determination. For does not thought, which shapes speech, and gives   
birth to the words that the tongue utters, hold precedence and rule   
over the fleeting sound? And yet-- 

[absent-mindedly running his hand around the forepillar of the harp] 

--having seen how varied speech may be, and how alike, and how unlike,   
are the ways and manners of thinking that each has that employs a   
different one, I wonder -- rather, judge it so -- that speech does   
truly shape the mind that makes it, even as the different densities   
of stones, and woods, and metals, do change the sculptor's very hand,   
both in pattern of gesture and by increase of strength. Yet this is   
but analogy, of course, and nothing definite. 

**Teler Maid**:   
You still have not said yea or nay, but yea and nay. 

**Beren**: [frowning]   
Isn't that an Elvish thing? I thought it came from being Eldar. 

**Steward**:   
Were I not fearful of giving offense, I should say that it comes of   
wisdom, which often accompanies years but does not inevitably follow   
upon them, but which may by the course of time and wide experience   
allow to overlook a great many things, as from the topmost branches   
of the tallest trees, and thus reveal that things in truth be other   
than at first presumed while in their midst, as a distance might be   
less great than seemed, or greater, or things thought far apart lie   
close beside, and only such slow and laborious ascent to such a height   
may grant the view, and also must require as well the courage to look   
so far and through so lofty a gap. 

[raising an eyebrow] 

--Or else, at other times, it comes but of mental sloth, that does not   
care to take the trouble to think on it, or possibly of simple ignorance,   
that is too proud to grant it. 

[his ex gives him a wary look, and then an even more uncertain one to their   
companions, who are chuckling over this . . . answer] 

**Soldier**:   
How did you win, sir? Against His Majesty the High King? 

**Captain**:   
I just assumed you cheated with the Sight. 

[nods from several of the Ten] 

**Steward**:   
No, I -- merely played kingstone, where he was playing chess proper. 

**Beren**: [frowning]   
How could you do that? 

**Steward**:   
I took the offensive to his side, by putting my king into play, and   
setting all my pieces in guard around as a doubled nernehta. At first   
he was so thrown by the unprecedent and seeming-madness of such a   
hazardous ploy, that he could not mount an effective defense -- and   
then as certain similarities to unpleasant past events became increasingly   
manifest, aided by the fact that he had drawn black, His Majesty's   
uncle became increasingly, as you would say, rattled. I nearly felt   
badly at putting him in check with my remaining knight. But I doubt the   
stratagem would work again, now that he has had time to study it. 

**Beren**: [solemnly]   
I can see where making him play Morgoth to your Fingolfin might make   
him a tad upset and careless. 

**Teler Maid**:   
But it is little like to Arda, after all's done, no matter how like   
your War -- for when one battle's ended, you but lay the pieces down   
for yet another. 

[she gives them a slightly uncertain, challenging look, receiving only   
sad affirmation in return: only the Steward disagrees at all] 

**Steward**: [shaking his head]   
It is not much like the world Outside -- but it is very like to here. 

[he returns to playing, still quietly; beyond, the Royal Guard sent on   
errand to Fingolfin returns, and approaching the hill, comes up quietly   
and kneels down discreetly behind his King, tapping him on the shoulder   
to get his attention.] 

**Third Guard**: [aside to Finrod, in a rather frustrated tone]   
Sir, your uncle's being gloomy over things again and wants you to go   
talk to him yourself. I did tell him you were busy with your father,   
but he's not in the mood to listen. 

[he notices the surprised expressions of the living Eldar and gives Finrod   
a worried look] 

**Finrod**: [very amused]   
You're scandalizing my family with our informality. 

**Third Guard**:   
Oh. 

[bites his lip, straightening as he kneels, and begins again -- very formal tone] 

--Sire, the High King would have your Majesty attend upon his presence   
most presently, and requests that His Majesty the King excuse your   
Majesty's absence for the whiles. 

[spoiling it] 

How's that, Sir? 

**Finrod**: [approving nod]   
Good enough. 

**Third Guard**:   
What do you want me to tell him next? 

**Finrod**: [cool glint]   
Nothing. He'll be getting my response shortly, and regretting this game.   
He should know by now that I play to win. 

[snorts] 

--On the other hand, he won't be able to complain about being bored. 

[to the Guard] 

--Thank you. 

[his follower nods and makes his departure with rapidity and relief, heading   
over to the much more relaxed, if still strained, gathering by the waterfall] 

**Finarfin**: [guardedly]   
There is ill-will twixt thee and thine uncle? 

[Finrod shrugs, shaking his head a little] 

**Finrod**: [a shade wearily]   
He's not gotten over the fact that most people here think of him as my   
uncle, rather than me as the High King's nephew. We try not to make   
an issue of it; but the fact of the matter is, I held more territory, and   
more followers, than all the rest of our family combined. --For all the   
good it did me. 

[Finarfin restrains a grimace] 

**Nerdanel**:   
But tell me, was that not ever truth? Surely thy father's elder was not so   
blind to see it not? 

**Finrod**:   
Yes, but it didn't matter to him then, because he never paid much attention   
to anything that happened in the south. All his concentration was fixed on   
Thangorodrim, and everything else was important only in so far as it related   
to the Leaguer. I might have ruled most of Beleriand, but it never registered   
saving insofar as it meant that I could guarantee deliveries of weapons and   
wine and gemstones and seafood and safe passage for all of that and his   
messengers and troops to the siege. 

**Nerdanel**:   
Whence, then, this sudden and much-belated cognition of such state as did   
obtain o'er all for nigh well all this Age? 

**Finrod**: [wry]   
Because -- an awful lot of them are here. And yes, technically we are all   
of us subject to him -- my people, including my brothers and their people   
as well, along with the Feanorian dead -- but that doesn't change the fact   
that an awful lot of them, including occasionally my brothers and some of   
the Feanorians, come to me first for advice. Which -- as I've tried to tell   
him -- has some little thing to do with the fact that he's spent much of   
the past decade moping about and playing endless rounds of chess with   
whomever he can conscript into it. 

[increasingly exasperated] 

I mean -- Grinding Ice! -- what difference does it make any more? First   
of all, it's completely in the past; secondly, as you said, Aunt 'Danel,   
nothing really has changed except that he's been forced to notice it.   
I don't understand why he's so touchy about it now. When I was alive   
my kingdom came close to encircling Elu's, and he never gave me such   
a hard time as Uncle Fingolfin is giving me now. Not even when he threw   
us out. 

**Ambassador**:   
Yes, but you freely gave him the one thing he did desire, you and your   
siblings and your following -- respect. 

**Finrod**:   
I-- 

[stops, fights back a grin] 

I give my father's brothers all the respect they are due. No less than   
I gave my grandfather's brother. 

**Ambassador**:   
And thus His Majesty could but ever give his royal nephew hearing,   
whether the words were much to his liking or little, nor long stay   
angry with you, Sire. 

[Finrod sighs deeply] 

**Finrod**:   
--Too many Kings . . . ! 

**Finarfin**: [very measured and slightly-mocking tone]   
So, my son, -- art thou King, or not? For first thou dost deny it, and yet   
thy folk aver it, and thou dost act in such wise ever amidst all, and now,   
in guardless speech thou eke averrest. Canst thou yet, in full cognizance,   
and all consideration of these things, deny me thus once more? 

[they match stares for a long, intense moment, far too much between them to be   
said otherwise, and then Finrod sighs, yielding, but not weakening:] 

**Finrod**: [equally-measured, and very proudly]   
For so long as my people do hold me such, for so long as any of them   
stand in need of my protection, and for so long as we abide within these   
Halls -- I shall be their true lord, as they are true beyond all my   
deserving, for how can I choose other? 

**Finarfin**: [coolly]   
I had deemed no less. --Glad am I in truth to find it so. 

[Finrod is not sure what to make of his father's words; Amarie, who has up till   
now been very quiet and taut, now addresses him, in an edged, brittle tone.] 

**Amarie**:   
Thou -- thou dost not such things, in truth? To strike, with the sword's   
keenness, thy fellow shades? 

**Finrod**:   
Not usually. 

[brief pause] 

Usually, -- worse. 

**Finarfin**:   
Howso? 

**Finrod**: [shrugging]   
D-- Fire-breathing serpent-monsters. Molten rivers. --Things out of   
their worst nightmares to haunt them. 

**Amarie**: [sharp]   
Then how mayest hold thyself superior to these thy -- foes? 

**Finrod**: [coolly]   
They ravaged Swanhaven. They haven't regretted it. Now I harry them.   
--Not unprovoked, I assure you. 

[she does not respond, but only stares at him with a strange intensity; he   
gives his living relatives a defiant look. In the background, the Feanorian   
contingent returns, strengthened by the addition of a few more bolder souls] 

**Nerdanel**:   
My nephew, didst not assure that yon unquiet dead should ne'er dare to   
return and trouble ye? 

[looking around, he grimaces at her dry words] 

**Finrod**:   
Unwarranted optimism -- ever our bane. 

[sighing, he gets up and goes over to the incipient conflagration, shaking   
his head wearily at it all. With unspoken accord, the other four rise and   
follow to see what happens. The confronted parties are in much the same   
arrangement as before, with Beren and Huan together remaining reluctantly   
by the falls, while the two followings face off without yet coming to blows.] 

What seems to be the trouble, gentles? 

**Formenos**: [airily]   
What trouble would you have, sir? 

**Finrod**:   
None whatsoever, by my wish. But I fear you bring me some. 

**Formenos**:   
No, you and yours brought it on yourselves. Your servant owes my friend   
a debt of pain, and we are here to see it paid. 

**Finrod**:   
You know what my decision on that was -- that judgment should be left   
up to them that rightfully judge here, and I bid you go and make   
your grievance known to them. Have you not done so? 

**Aglon**:   
Hah -- as if they'd truly judge honestly between you and yours, and us!   
You know what the truth of that is, I'll warrant. 

**Finrod**:   
As I know the truth of what I say -- that I know not what judgment the   
Doomsman would pronounce, but that it be just. 

**Steward**:   
My lord, they will not give you peace, until I yield. Let me-- 

**Finrod**:   
No. 

**Steward**:   
For the common good, and Beren's-- 

**Finrod**:   
--No. I do not betray my own. 

[the Steward bows his head in obedience, though not relieved by the refusal] 

**Formenos**:   
So quickly you yield, Enedrion. I hardly recognize you these days --   
you must have been at some pains to blend in over the years with House   
Finarfin's "meekness," as I believe you used to call it over dinner at   
Gatherings in the old Day, considering how much you said it wore upon you. 

[he seems somewhat disappointed and surprised that the Ten express no surprise   
nor dismay whatsoever at this "revelation"] 

**Aglon**: [frowning thoughtfully]   
No, it's the other way 'round, I think: he found his proper level with   
these, who almost instantly forgot their Noldor heritage -- such as it   
was -- and "naturalized," I think they put it, when it's plants. None quite   
quite as much as the little sister -- but you'd swear they were all Dark-   
elves themselves, the way they've been running and hiding from trouble,   
these last few years. Of course, if he'd been truly High-elven, at heart,   
and not just from birth, he'd not have held back and gotten caught up with   
these stragglers back in the initial stages of the Departure. 

[the Steward does not respond, though his expression reveals the strain --   
Finarfin gives him a surprised look] 

**Finarfin**: [darkly]   
Is this ever their way and fashion of words unto ye? 

[quick nod] 

Yet thou dost not strike him down for such form of insolence? 

**Steward**:   
Truly, my lord, I -- I seldom, if ever, permit my anger to rule my deeds.   
--That -- was a most uncommon exception. 

**Captain**: [apologetic]   
I usually take care of any necessary violence, Sir. 

**Finarfin**:   
Aye, yet -- he derideth not only ye, but my son the same, in his words   
to thee. 

[another quick nod] 

**Captain**:   
That's my jurisdiction as well. 

**Finarfin**:   
I aver thy former actions seem less worthy of reprehensions -- the both   
of ye. 

[to the Feanorian lords, impassioned:] 

Wherefore ye seek naught but to feed this malice that doth overgrow   
thee like unto mossy greens o'ersliming rocks that do stand in water--   
deem ye not that it shall be the more fitting employ of spirit and   
strength to seek an end, or some form of speech or form of service   
that shall give solace to thine injured mood, young shade, that doth   
not give to other injury? Nor that it befits thee better, that art   
his elder both in earthly years alike in death, to urge him peace,   
belike discovering of thine own wisdom such appeasement even, that   
shall be acceptable to all who now contend? 

**Formenos**: [shaking his head]   
No one can stop you from talking, I suppose -- but I can't imagine   
what you think you'll accomplish, Finarfin old chap. Your skills as   
a peacemaker and a leader haven't exactly been shining successes,   
what? After all, you couldn't even keep your own children in line --   
though I'm not sure whether that says more about your parenting skills   
than your -- ahem -- "leadership abilities," eh? Not like your brother   
at all . . . 

[he trails off, raising his eyebrow challengingly -- Finarfin only gives him   
a level Look, matching him stare for stare, while to the side Finrod's jaw   
hardens, though he doesn't say anything] 

**Amarie**: [outraged]   
He is King of the Noldor, by right of descent that hath been confirméd   
full by Taniquetil's Powers -- and by desert, thou rebel, thou thief! 

**Aglon**: [bored tone, not even looking at her]   
Go back to your Valmar birdcage and ring your bells, Firstling. 

**Amarie**: [to Finrod]   
--And dost thou stand there, my lord, and hear, and do naught? 

**Finrod**: [shrugging]   
What do you want me to do, exactly? I thought you were against violence. 

**Amarie**:   
It is thine own father he mocketh, nor I alone! 

**Finrod**: [bleakly]   
I can tell him to be quiet, but you've seen how much good that does.   
If I hit him, it's going to escalate, which is what I'm trying to   
prevent. A bit counter-productive, wouldn't you say? 

[she snorts angrily; the Feanorians look on with malicious glee] 

After all, it's hardly fair of you to condemn Edrahil for losing his   
temper at the same sort of thing, and then goad me into it, -- unless   
you're actually trying to get me to do something to further justify   
your bad opinions of me-- 

**Amarie**: [loudly interrupting him]   
Hold-- 

[she grits her teeth as if biting down on any further imprecations, looking   
as coolly unaffected as she can, but there are tears in her eyes] 

**Aglon**: [affecting innocence, gesturing back and forth]   
So -- are you two married, or not? I can never get a straight answer about   
that, and my Lords weren't quite sure either. 

[to Amarie first] 

It's just as well, considering, that you stayed behind, Firstling -- you   
do know he was notorious for running off and not finishing things properly   
before getting distracted with something new. Saved yourself no end of   
grief, I'm sure-- 

[to Finrod] 

--It's hardly surprising that nobody in Nargothrond followed you, when you   
couldn't even convince your own lady to do the same! Of course, that's not   
really surprising either, considering you never stayed there long enough   
to unpack your bags. --I wonder if they've even missed you yet? 

[without looking around Finrod flings out his arm, blocking the Captain from   
moving forward; Amarie is white with fury] 

**Warrior**:   
We finished the defenses of Barad Nimras, didn't we? And th-- 

**Formenos**: [cutting him off]   
--Yes, and from what I've heard, that was a signally pointless waste of   
resources, wasn't it? They didn't strike there, after all. 

**Ranger**:   
At least we didn't just hang about on a perpetual shooting vacation enjoying   
ourselves at other people's expense! 

[the Feanorian lords just smile, the baiting succeeding quite well] 

**Finrod**: [impassive]   
Have you anything of substance to impart, milords? 

**Nerdanel**: [sternly chiding]   
Ye should stand ashamed, that have not learned aught of mercy else of   
wisdom for the workings of Doom. 

[they don't even look at her, although a few of their following do.] 

**Ambassador**:   
They are Kinslayers, noble lady, and one expects nothing else of them,   
if one is wise. 

[the Seneschal and Warden give him a glance and then ignore him, as unworthy   
of attention, while Nerdanel draws herself up to deliver another rebuke. 

**Steward**: [urgent]   
Do not waste your time and trouble, please -- it will only incur you   
needless grief, and insult. 

[she gives him a a quick approving glance, and continues to rake those who   
formerly owed her fealty as well with an adamantine glare. Some of them   
display signs of clear discomfort, despite their affectation of her non-   
existence.] 

**Finrod**: [disgusted exasperation]   
What do you want? I'm not about to let you hurt any of my people, and   
I'm not going to allow you to start a melee in here. Now you have the   
choice of letting it stop, now, quietly, and taking it up with the Powers   
that are here, as I advised -- or of pressing it to open conflict. We are   
not, --have not -- and will not be the initiators of aggression. We do   
our best to keep the peace here, even in the face of your determination   
to break it. 

**Aglon**:   
Oh, such pretty, pretty words! What a pity they aren't true. --Or have   
you forgotten how your vassal there ran me through when I had done nothing   
to him? 

[the Steward lowers his head, but does not turn away or retreat; Finrod is   
unmoved by the retort, as are the rest of his friends.] 

**Captain**:   
You hit the Sea-Mew. 

**Aglon**: [blank]   
Who? 

**Teler Maid**: [loudly -- very loudly]   
Me!!! 

[he glances over, startled, and registers her presence] 

**Aglon**: [exasperated, to Finrod]   
I did no such thing. I merely moved her aside as she was obstructing me --   
all right, perhaps a little too much force, but nothing to hurt her, really. 

[she snorts angrily, giving him a glare to which he is quite oblivious] 

**Finrod**: [leadingly]   
Obstructing you -- and from what? 

**Aglon**:   
? ? ? 

[Finrod sighs, and looks at the Youngest Ranger] 

**Youngest Ranger**: [clearly, if with reluctant expression]   
From trying to strike me, gentles. 

**Aglon**:   
--Who had struck me without warning and most unsportsmanlike -- with   
not even a proper weapon! 

**Finrod**:   
--And, as I understand it, to forestall you from harming the Lord of   
Dorthonion. --A Man unarmed, crippled, occupied in peaceful pursuits,   
and offering you no cause for violence. Not to mention a valiant enemy   
of our common Enemy. 

[pause, in which everyone looks over at Beren where he is standing unhappily   
holding onto Huan's neck] 

**Aglon**: [sullen]   
He provoked me. 

[derisive noises and loud jeers from the Ten & Huan -- Finrod gestures them quiet] 

**Finrod**: [pleasantly]   
Truthfully? I admit that Beren's social skills are not always employed, but   
tell me -- who spoke first? 

[silence] 

**Formenos**: [patronizingly]   
Finarfinion, you can't really expect us to take such insolence from one of   
these yearsick Followers, behaving as though he were one of us, our equal --   
nay, our better -- and not a thief, come of a breed of thieves, overrunning   
and taking all that's ours by right. 

**Aglon**: [nodding]   
Indeed -- if he'd shown me respect, as would be appropriate for someone who   
owed everything to our sacrifices in the Leaguer, I'd not have lost my temper   
with your Man servant there. Instead he behaved with less civility than the   
rest of your people usually do -- which I admit is a difficult thing to manage! 

[simultaneously] 

**Second Guard**:   
Don't listen to them--   
**Ranger**:   
It isn't true, Beren, don't pay attention. 

**Amarie**: [amazed]   
Still dost hold fast to this thy jealousy, that art not even earth enough   
to hold to aught of earth, but like a shadow hast but swept 'cross the lands,   
until thy time of Doom hath swallowed thee as the night ever swalloweth   
all such transitory shadows? Wilt thou ever grasp at that which thou canst   
not bear off, even as thy true Master doth ever seek to clutch all within's   
own ever-increasing hunger? 

**Teler Maid**: [disdainful]   
We might have preferred the Twilight -- but only to better see the holy Stars,   
and not to hide our deeds! 

**Ambassador**: [nodding]   
Indeed, gentle maiden, they are but Orcs that can endure the Sun, as   
your words imply -- for so they have most clearly shown themselves to be. 

**Formenos**:   
Small your sort's gratitude ever was, but it seems to have vanished   
altogether, Dark-elf. 

**Ambassador**:   
What gratitude is owed, for a deed unintended, sir? You did not have any   
thought of our welfare when you assaulted Morgoth, nor beleaguered him   
-- it was but a consequence, and quite as fortunate for your interests as   
for those whose holding Beleriand rightly was! 

[the Lord Seneschal ignores him] 

**Aglon**: [caustic, to Finrod]   
I want satisfaction, Your Majesty.

**Finrod**: [looking at him as though he were a beetle]   
And I want you and your people out of here, or at least quiet, if you   
insist upon staying. 

**Aglon**:   
And that's unfortunate, since you can't enforce your will here any more   
than you could in Nargothrond. 

**Finrod**:   
I don't recommend you test that premise. 

**Aglon**: [smiling a knowing smile]   
No, you wouldn't -- since the Powers won't let you actually do anything   
any more. And, of course, like a dutiful little slave you promised to obey   
them -- sorry, child, not thrall. 

**Finrod**: [patiently]   
I gave my word because the Weaver was so upset, and it was a small thing   
for me, to give her peace of mind. 

**Aglon**:   
Oh, that's right -- you're just too nice for your own good. No wonder you   
lost every battle and contest you engaged in -- but considering you've but   
a quarter Noldor blood, it's perhaps more impressive that you ventured so   
far from home and even made the effort -- some sort of pity prize in order,   
I should say! 

**Finrod**: [raising an eyebrow]   
The roads might have been different -- but haven't they led us both to   
the same prophesied place? 

**Aglon**:   
. . . 

**Formenos**: [graciously, to his confederate]   
At least your Doom meant something, saving our kinsfolk in the Battle   
of Sudden Flame. 

[Finarfin moves forward -- remembers -- checks, and turns to the Captain] 

**Finarfin**: [low and fierce]   
Smite him, friend -- and my blessing for it. 

**Captain**: [regretful]   
Gladly, my lord -- were I allowed. 

**Amarie**:   
Is't within chance's bounds, that any should have seen yon Doom unfold,   
borne witness to all its direst workings, and seen the truth of't borne   
out, that all such unblessed efforts end in misery and ruin -- and yet   
offend thus blasphemously, and most unsorrowing yet mock at it!?! 

**Formenos**: [to Aglon and his supporters]   
It's amazing how those who have caged themselves will continue to insist   
they're free, and better off for being slaves, than those who have escaped.   
No prisons like those of the mind, don't you agree? We might be held here   
against our will -- but at least we have our own free wills! 

[as his friends smilingly agree, a strange woman's voice echoes loudly through   
the Hall:] 

--Whenever are you going to learn -- Father? 

[all turn to look at the new arrival, who is standing just at the edge of   
the dispute -- on the inner side of the Hall; clearly she didn't just come in   
through the door. Her appearance is striking: it's impossible to tell which   
Kindred this shade belongs to (hard even to tell what gender) as the disorder   
of her hair and ragged mismatch of her clothing makes Beren look well-groomed,   
and her expression makes Luthien at her most frazzled seem calm and sane. She   
stalks forward, stiff and awkward, as though not used to people, or to welcome,   
and everyone else draws back a little from this hollow-eyed, ferocious-looking   
madwoman -- with the notable exception of Finrod's following. Ideally Natasha   
McElhone from Ronin would portray her.] 

I never thought to hear myself say this, but -- I am ashamed that   
I am of any connection to you all. 

[her voice is harsh, and her way of talking sharp and erratic like her movements.   
The Feanorians stare at her, stunned, most of them without recognition -- the   
Seneschal of Formenos stares at her in shock, completely speechless] 

Not a word? After having been so glib in your own defense for so long! 

[she folds her arms, wound up taut as a crossbow, staring at those whose   
primary self-identification is as Noldor, and waits for someone to respond,   
smiling without humor at their leader.] 

**Teler Maid**:   
Who are you? 

**Ex-Thrall**: [ironically]   
One of those who consented, who stood by while you were killed. By my   
ill-fortune I was not drowned in the storm, the ship I rode on made the   
dark voyage to Losgar, and I lived to earn my Doom honestly. 

[Beren shoulders through and comes around to face her, Huan at his side   
guarding him] 

**Beren**: [troubled]   
But how come you're here? 

**Ex-Thrall**: [genuine surprise]   
You recall me? 

**Beren**:   
Of course I remember you. You gave me half your scarf. 

[someone in the crowd makes a noise, quickly cut off, and he looks up. Earnestly:] 

Don't laugh. From someone who hasn't got much, that's a kingly gift. 

[to the Ex-Thrall again] 

Didn't you go home? --I didn't know you could talk. 

**Ex-Thrall**: [bitter laugh]   
What was there for me to say? My deeds were sufficient. I went to the City. 

[she shakes her head] 

Something went to the City, at least, and ate and bathed and walked in rooms   
that did not stink of decay and stared at every light like a witless moth.   
Until Sun-return, when there was no gift-singing there or joy, nor any way   
to hide from the truth: that I too, was an empty shell and nothing more, and   
that there would never be light again for any of us under that stone -- and   
I lay down upon my couch, and left. 

[he tries to put his hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs off any attempt at comfort] 

I did not speak to any here until I heard your name, and knew that someone   
else that might comprehend what I might say was here, and came forth from   
the shadows to ask -- and stayed to tell instead. 

[she flashes a glance over towards the Steward, who bows slightly in her   
direction, his expression lightening a little, though still grim and stressed] 

I have found no other company here one-half so congenial, though 'tis thought   
I am aloof and care not for any. 

**Captain**: [easily]   
No, -- I think most of us know you're severely agoraphobic and would be   
present more if you could manage it. 

[She closes her eyes and smiles a faint, brief, genuine smile, while some of the   
Ten look a little penitent. Emphatic:] 

--You don't have to talk about it. 

[at once she lifts her head again, defiantly, shaking her head. The Seneschal   
of Formenos takes a step closer to her, and opens his mouth to say something --   
but she gives a terrible scream of rage and pain, drowning him out] 

**Ex-Thrall**:   
Do not say it! I have no name! She that had that name died long ago --   
would you hear how? -- and only I am left. --Kinslayer. Murderer.   
Bloodguilty coward. --Yes! Murderer thrice over, and more. 

**Formenos**: [in helpless protest, shaking his head over and over]   
No -- you were never a warrior-- 

**Ex-Thrall**: [mocking]   
I never wielded a sword. --I did not need to. Others always killed for me.   
First you -- all of you -- and then the servants of my Master, so that I   
never might stain my hands with death -- only my heart! 

**Aglon**:   
But you got away safely -- we died to guard the evacuation-- 

[he is just as horrorstricken as his friend] 

**Ex-Thrall**: [matter-of-fact]   
No. There were wounded who were unable to continue; I was endeavoring   
to heal them enough to carry on, when we were overtaken. 

[looking at her father] 

After you were killed, as the War crept on, I vowed to honor you by saving   
as many of our folk as might be from the fighting, and became a Healer, as   
it's done in the Old Country -- but I went beyond, and rode forth with the   
companies along the Northern Front, as very few other maids dared, or dared   
trouble their kindred's hearts by daring to do. --But was I not your daughter? 

[gesturing emphatically] 

How could I be any less brave, nor any less concerned, than you who died   
in effort to end the War before it truly began? --I never did believe that   
our lord had gone to the parley in anything but good faith, because I'd   
have had to think that of you, too. Not while I was alive. 

[he opens his mouth, but doesn't say anything, and she keeps going, addressing   
them all equally:] 

When the War broke out and broke our lines, and all the rest of it, and   
those of us who survived the initial assault on Aglon knew it wasn't possible   
to hold it, and we thought to pull back to Himlad and join our forces with   
the garrison there, and keep that, at least, firm against the invaders -- but   
you know all about that, you've argued it over for a decade now. But it wasn't   
possible, instead we were joined by a cavalcade from Himlad, where the Enemy   
had got round, and pushed past round Himring through the March as well, so   
that our lords were forced to lead us west with Prince Orodreth's company,   
down the Old Road where even orcs would not dare to follow, using their   
combined powers to keep off the Gloomweaver's spawn. But I never got so far. 

[looking at the Warden of Aglon] 

Your younger brother was badly wounded, by an axe-cut. --And others, as well,   
but -- you understand. 

**Aglon**: [anguished]   
He -- he's not a slave now too--? 

[she smiles, a sinister, sinister smile, shaking her head] 

**Ex-Thrall**:   
No. I'll get to that. I stayed back, with some others, trying with all   
our might and main to patch our friends -- and loved ones -- sufficiently   
for them to keep on, but in vain. The smokes confused us, and we   
ended up captives, like so many others, harried back across the lands   
we had once held as ours, that now were reclaimed by their true Master.   
Two years I served in hell, two years -- but Time isn't the same there,   
as it wasn't the same here, after the Sun came. 

[shaking her head] 

It's always dark, there, always the same, and her seasons don't bring   
renewal or strength or plenty or peace by turns. Two years I struggled   
to stay alive, to avoid the notice, and the lash, of his fell Commanders,   
and their underlings -- and to stay others, wielding my skills in the domain   
of Death, for those burnt or broken in machinery, and doing it in defiance,   
though I knew it was tolerated as a useful thing, by our Lord and His   
people. Every little was an unimaginable gain, in that place that is Him,   
where the very air corrodes the lungs that breathe it, and the walls throb   
with His anger when you fall against them. 

**Formenos**:   
But you're free now -- it's over-- 

**Ex-Thrall**: [blunt]   
--Never. I left there, in the company of many other slaves, for the south,   
a group given -- selected by what miserable fate I do not know -- to the   
victorious Commander who had just overthrown one of the last few bastions   
of Elvish resistance, and was working on consolidating the entire North   
from the Pass to the River. He needed workers to arm his troops, and serve   
them, and to repair the damages done to the fortress in its taking. And so   
we came to Tol Sirion, who had not thought ever to leave Angband again. 

[she gives Finrod a significant Look] 

It was . . . different there. For one, it was more depressing: Angband   
might be built in part by Eldar hands, but not originally, and nothing of   
its design says so. For another, there's no such thing as anonymity: you   
can't hide amid the herd, be just another number, keeping your self to   
yourself, so long as you keep your head down and stay lucky, in a place   
that small. I found that out very shortly, when I was summoned -- well,   
that's technically true, though most likely not what you'd first think   
of, for the word "summoned" -- to the presence of our new Doomsman, the   
Necromancer, from whom it was whispered that not even death might set one   
free, though we Light-elves, and most lately captured, could hardly credit   
such superstition. 

**Ranger**: [automatically starting to correct]   
It wasn't-- 

[but is interrupted himself by the Youngest Ranger -- his junior in age, but   
superior in rank, silences him with a hand over his mouth and a Look; the   
Noldorin warrior is apologetic and shamefaced, but the Feanorian lady doesn't   
seem to notice the disturbance] 

**Ex-Thrall**:   
The dread Lord of that Island gave me to understand that he understood   
very well, that there were many among the thralls who were not equal to   
their set tasks, whose strength had failed, or was failing, and who were   
covered for by their friends and dearest ones. I denied it; he laughed.   
"You heal them," he scoffed, "you know it even better than I. So long as   
you get them back to work, it's all the better for my purposes. But when   
it comes to feeding useless drones -- no more, I say. What I want, is for   
you to take note of such, and inform me who is incapable, as you find   
them so." 

[she looks at the lawful Eldar grouped together] 

Not even pretense, now, when setting Elf against Elf -- raw and unvarnished,   
his mastering of treason. I said nothing -- he mistook me. Or so I thought.   
"In return for your services, I can assure you of far better treatment, not   
only for yourself, but for those you -- minister to," he pledged, offering   
improved medical care as the payback -- for the survivors, that is. 

[shrugging] 

It made sense, when he explained it: his staff had to eat, not just the   
Orcs and the Wargs, but also his couriers as well. They needed fresh   
blood, but it was always risky for them to hunt, the chance of being   
caught on the ground, and by culling -- his word -- the slaves for those   
who were going to depart soon anyway, this meant less danger of messenger,   
and message, being lost; and of course the rest of the body would be eaten   
by his other minions, if it were not too wasted. A proposition triply   
beneficial -- to him, to me, and to the majority of us. And I refused. 

[she smiles grimly, and pauses] 

**Formenos**:   
You've not been here eight years--?! 

**Ex-Thrall**: [impatient]   
Haven't you been paying attention? No, he had me tossed in a closet for a   
week -- I think it was a week, at least -- not wide enough to lie down in   
or high enough to stand in, pitch dark -- it had been a chimney-breast once,   
but was blocked off for more useful purposes; he didn't trouble much with   
keeping a cheerful atmosphere going throughout the place. But I held fast,   
and did not yield in the least, not even in imagining -- I sang against him,   
songs of Valinor, until physically unable, and still I thought resistance at   
him, and finally they hauled me out of there and brought me into the Terrible   
One's presence. And then, I thought I'd won -- that either he'd send me back   
to my labours, or harder ones, or kill me then and there. No such luck. 

[she looks sidelong at the Ten through veiled lashes, her expression more   
sneering than ever] 

**Finrod**: [very serious]   
Is this going to do you any good? 

**Ex-Thrall**:   
What does that matter? 

[to her father] 

Oh, but I was defiant, I was strong -- I hadn't let them break me, and   
I would not be broken. No matter what. And he didn't say anything, not   
a word, just smiled at me, while I stood there shaking from hunger and   
cramped muscles, weeping in the torchlight, and telling myself, and him,   
in my mind that it was purely physical reaction, and meaningless, and   
believed it. Some of his minions carried in a block of iron, by the rings   
set in its sides -- it was huge, the size of a wall-stone, too massive   
to be moved by any one's strength, not even one of us. I stared at it,   
trying to think what new torture it could be for -- I couldn't see any   
moving parts, except for the circular handles -- but I didn't show them   
my fear. I would not. And then they chained me to one of the rings, and   
I laughed inside to think that all this terror had been for but another   
beating -- that there was nothing so effective as the fearful mind for   
defeating itself, and all that was needed was true Eldar spirit, to   
withstand the vaunted Power of the Terrible One. I actually pitied the   
Grey Kindred at that moment, for all their terror of him and his kind,   
poor weaklings without the resistance of our people. 

[she gives a quick glance towards the Youngest Ranger] 

I was such a fool. 

[to the Lord Warden of Aglon] 

--I told you there was more to your brother's story. They dragged him   
in -- and what a reunion that was, when I hadn't known he was there --   
or even still alive -- or he the same of me. His defiance, and challenges,   
and brave words in my behalf -- they would have made your heart blaze   
with pride, I'm sure, as they did mine. It never occurred to us -- to me,   
at least, and I'm sure to him as well -- that we were nothing new, nothing   
the Enemy and his followers hadn't seen a hundred times before -- our   
courage, or ignorance. We were so sure that the Dark was weaker than our   
love, that nothing could defeat us, even though they killed us -- even   
though they made hideous sport of us first. 

[wearily] 

I don't know what Sauron wanted from him. I don't know that he wanted   
anything, and would have killed him whatever he chose. I've always assumed   
that -- that he died simply because of me -- but perhaps that's but my   
arrogance as well. I don't know, now. 

[pulling herself together, in her sarcastic tone again] 

So there we were, both cuffed to this block in the middle of the floor,   
not enough length to the chains to reach across it nor around it and hold   
hands -- but by leaning over it as far as one could stretch, we managed to   
touch another way -- I must have looked as frightful and orc-like as he did,   
but that didn't matter. The soldiers applauded and made all sorts of comments,   
but we didn't care about that either. There was just us, and the Dark didn't   
matter. Then -- something growled above us, and we broke apart so fast I   
split my lip on his teeth -- or mine, couldn't tell -- and tried to get away,   
crawling back as far as the chains would allow. 

**Formenos**:   
Not -- not a Balrog? 

[his daughter shakes her head, smiling a little] 

**Ex-Thrall**:   
No. A Werewolf. The big silvery one, the captain of his elite guard. Oh yes.   
You've seen Wolves before, seen his minions out and about, fought them, fled   
them, killed them -- they're not so terrible, truly, no more than the Orcs,   
isn't that so? Stronger, swifter, a little more canny, in strange ways, harder   
to understand -- but not like the Fiery Ones, the commanding demons of our   
Iron God. Wargs can be answered with a spear, a sword, an arrow or a word on   
the wind to bear your scent elsewhere or blind them to you --Nothing like   
Balrogs, right? 

[she looks at her former comrades and relatives with a self-mocking sneer,   
while they avoid her eyes] 

**Beren**: [flatly]   
That depends. On where you are in relation to 'em, and if they know you're   
there or not. 

[she doesn't turn towards him, but the slight lift of her chin acknowledges his   
words, while she continues to stare at her parent] 

**Ex-Thrall**:   
Handcuffed on the floor, waiting for an execution order, looking at those   
dripping fangs, those glowing eyes -- it was, for me, at least. No fire left,   
not even embers of that blaze that was so bright -- both of us like grubs,   
dug up from their roots, writhing in the cold air -- no voice left to speak   
defiance, nor love, now. This was his place, and his power, and no other   
song is possible in his presence, far less than our common Master though   
the Terrible One might be. He strode through my shields as though they   
were not even there, and I realized that nothing had been hidden from him,   
all along, and that there is no hope. 

[though she does not, others cannot help but glance at the Nargothronders   
-- who look sorry for her, but not particularly fazed, Finrod least of all,   
as the former Healer continues:] 

"You know what I want," he told me. "If you will not serve me, you are no   
use to me as you are. Shall I reduce you to your component parts, and make   
use of them separately?" I was still, and did not answer -- the Wolf's breath   
down my neck, that should have been warm, but I was in a winter gale, ice   
all over me. "Which will it be?" he asked my soul again, and smiled at us.   
"Whose flesh will feed my servants -- yours, or another's?" 

[smiling through her teeth:] 

I didn't say anything -- I didn't have to. It was that easy. 

[the Lord Warden shakes his head in helpless protest -- then looks around   
suddenly with a wild expression as if he might see his brother here, too] 

I hid my face, and didn't watch. While it was still going on -- but mostly   
over -- they unchained me and let me get dressed again, and I walked out   
of there, and did not-- 

[her father interrupts her, involuntarily, with a spastic gesture of his hand] 

**Formenos**:   
You-- 

[he cannot go on, but she tosses her head scornfully, snorting] 

**Ex-Thrall**:   
Of course. You don't feed people to the Wolves with their clothes on. 

[lightly] 

--What, you don't laugh? You don't find the idea at all amusing now? 

[cold iron] 

--I did not look back. Not then. Not after. Not ever -- until the dark that   
we crawled in ripped open and the Night came pouring into our cells, our   
prison-rooms -- our tombs; and we remembered. We remembered -- things   
we had never known. Not truly. Not how precious they were, until we lost   
them -- destroyed them -- threw them away. All that time that I silently   
handed over my fellow prisoners for destruction, naming them as too weak   
to work, and telling myself that it was mercy, that they should die sooner,   
and kinder to be eaten quickly, than slowly by the Dark and the malice of   
our Master -- lying to myself, even as they thanked me for healing them and   
caring for them, while I gave them over in my stead, and none of them ever   
knew -- I had to do, it for my own survival, and I could not regret it,   
because if I ever looked back -- I could not go on. 

[shaking her head without stopping] 

Only -- that High-elven lady whom you knew in Beleriand did not survive.   
She too died in that hour, eaten just as surely as the other, and what   
walked away without regret is all that remains. 

[with a mocking smile] 

Will you call me your jewel, your songbird, your beautiful one now? Will   
you embrace me and call me your star, your sweeting, your treasure, now,   
Father? 

[she stares at him, daring him to reject her, but hoping against hope that he   
will not. With a cry of anguish he turns, clutching at his temples, and remains   
standing hunched over as if mortally wounded, his head bowed and eyes   
closed. She laughs wildly.] 

I knew it -- I knew it! You too cannot bear the thought of me, murderess,   
Kinslayer, weakling -- thrall-- 

[she reaches out her hands to the Lord Warden of Aglon, who is looking at   
her with an agonized expression, filled with embarrassment as much as horror] 

And you, my friend -- all of you that were my friends, whose lives and   
limbs I saved, those many years of the Leaguer, whose hands held mine   
in dance and peace, even as for comfort when you lay wounded -- will   
you disown me too? 

[they look away from her in shame, some of them lifting hands in protest,   
or in appeal for her pity, and she falls on her knees, bent over, weeping,   
but still defiant and challenging: as the Ten move closer to try to lift   
her up or console her she flings their hands away from her, and shouts at   
the Feanorians:] 

--Only these -- who alone have the right to scorn me, of all you ghosts   
and vainglorious shadows, who faced the test and did not fail it -- only   
they've not fled from me in horror! O robbers, brigands, thieves who struck   
down the helpless when they tried to resist us -- and yet even you have   
not fallen so low that you don't see the poisoned aura about me, and shrink   
from it--! 

[she starts rocking back and forth, her arms clenched around her chest, trying   
not to cry out loud, gasping] 

**Youngest Ranger**: [very seriously]   
I don't think it's that -- I think it's that you're crazy. 

[she gives a hoarse bark of surprised laughter, but he goes on in the same way:] 

That's what scares them. There's others have done worse things, you know.   
Or at least -- more of them. But they're not so plainly daft, as you. 

[pause -- she chuckles through her tears] 

--Or else they're worse, that they don't see that they should be. 

[the Ex-Thrall pulls herself together and looks up at the onlookers around   
her, first her own kin and people, and then at the watching faithful, living   
and dead.] 

**Ex-Thrall**: [defiantly]   
What would you say to me, Finarfin son of Indis? That I should have turned   
back with you at Araman? 

**Finarfin**:   
I am King of the Noldor now-- 

[meaningful tone] 

--eke of them that do own me thus, even as them that yet do not-- 

[the Ten look down awkwardly, a little ashamed; the Feanorian contingent gives   
him startled looks, some angry, some wondering] 

--nor be it meet that I should add one measure to the judgment that hath been   
given unto thee, presuming to greater wisdom than the Powers thereby. Aye,   
and thou hadst known less sorrow, hadst indeed returned home in that time,   
-- but this thou dost even ken, ere didst speak it. 

**Ex-Thrall**: [softly]   
Like son, like father -- 

[the two Noldor Kings steal glances quickly at each other, before she goes on,   
this time to Amarie:] 

--And you, Fairest One, come down from your mountain -- what word for   
this bloodstained one? --Or will you turn away in silence as well? 

**Amarie**: [calmly]   
Thou art far from first, nor yet the last, that Feanor hath led astray --   
nor indeed the mightiest. Bereft of the heartening strength of this Land,   
of Light, how might ye help but fall beneath our Enemy's sway in the   
Shadowed Realm? 

[some of the Feanorians bridle at her words, but others look troubled and   
downcast; the Seneschal remains bent, anguished, where he has turned away] 

**Ex-Thrall**:   
You speak of him -- but what says she who would not be led, nor driven,   
but held firm in her resolve despite all persuasion? 

[turning her head, she matches stares with Nerdanel, who draws near to her   
with an untroubled expression and kneels down a short distance in front of   
her while she addresses her:] 

**Nerdanel**:   
What hast thou done, child, that mine own children did not? --And yet   
I love them, nor shall ever cease. 

[the former Healer bows her head a little, closing her eyes, and then squaring   
her shoulders looks up coolly at Elu Thingol's emissary.] 

**Ex-Thrall**:   
Well, lord of the Grey folk -- hold you still with your lord's judgment   
on us? Or have you learned mercy in your own death? 

**Ambassador**: [in a detached, level tone]   
You have acknowledged your deeds, Feanorian. Anything further that I might   
say would be both needless and cruel. 

[they both sigh, recognizing that this isn't enough, and it's the best that he   
can give or she will get -- and then she turns to look at the shade from   
Alqualonde.] 

**Ex-Thrall**:   
And you, Foamrider, who said but a little while ago that such a fate was   
no more than such as I merited -- what do you say to me, Kinslain? 

[the Sea-elf stares at her directly, her eyes very wide, her face otherwise   
expressionless, for a long moment.] 

**Teler Maid**:   
I think -- I think you have been tortured enough. 

[the Ex-Thrall flinches as if the other had struck her instead, shaking her head   
a little in protest, and then looks at Beren] 

**Ex-Thrall**: [softly]   
Now that you know the truth of me, traitor as much as victim -- will you   
shun me, mortal? 

[he shakes his head, very deliberately] 

**Beren**:   
I remember. 

**Huan**:   
[thin whines] 

[the Hound walks slowly over beside her, tail dragging, and puts his head down   
by hers: she doesn't respond, but doesn't push him away either. Moving softly,   
as if not to startle a hurt animal, Finrod comes to kneel down directly in front   
of her, putting his hands on her shoulders and looking her directly in the eyes] 

**Finrod**:   
Someday -- you will take up your name again, and it will be true again, and   
you will sing once more, under the Stars. 

**Ex-Thrall**: [disbelieving]   
When? 

**Finrod**:   
I don't know. Someday. 

[as he speaks, her father half-turns and looks at them, as torn between hope   
and remorse and doubt as she] 

When you are ready, you will leave the shelter of these Halls, and you will   
walk under the sky, and your voice will give as much peace to your hearers   
as presently brings pain. 

[The Ex-Thrall sighs . . . and vanishes from under his hands without another   
word. The Lord Seneschal flinches, bowing his head, and disappears as well,   
leaving his cohorts in disarray as well as dismay. Finrod gets up and turns to   
face the remaining Feanorian supporters, addressing them in a quiet, matter-   
of-fact, but uncompromising tone:] 

Why don't you just go now? 

[the living Eldar look at him in shock and dismay of their own, while a warrior   
of Aglon asks his commander anxiously:] 

**Feanorian**:   
Sir -- what -- what ought we do now . . . ? 

**Nerdanel**:   
But -- what of yon poor maiden? 

**Finrod**: [blankly]   
--What of her? 

[the Lord Warden makes a helpless gesture to his follower, struggling for   
articulate speech] 

**Aglon**: [shaking his head, struggling against tears]   
I -- I -- ah--! 

**Finarfin**: [with a perceptive look at his son]   
Such trouble is not strange to thee, but oft thou must give thy counsel to   
the broken of heart, is't not so? 

**Finrod**: [nodding]   
Not infrequently. Sometimes we talk. More often I listen. Generally they   
just want to be seen by someone who won't dismiss them, and then we   
just sit quietly, or I play-- 

[glancing over where the harp rests on the stones] 

--until they're ready to speak to someone higher. That was a tremendous   
improvement -- usually you can hardly tell she's there. 

[as the four lawful Elves look at him, and each other, and the stunned   
Feanorians with lingering shock and distress, Nienna's Apprentice comes in   
through the doorway in determined haste, sees the gathering and flings up   
his hands in disgust.] 

**Nienna's Apprentice**:   
Oh, threnody, not this again! Would you people go away and find something   
constructive to do? 

[he makes a sweeping, dismissive motion with his arm. Afterthought:] 

--Please. 

[the Warden of Aglon turns, welcoming this new challenge as a replacement   
for prior emotions, as do his companions] 

**Aglon**: [extreme haughtiness]   
You will not address me in that fashion, boy. 

**Apprentice**:   
Actually . . . I will. --Ghost. 

[the Elven warrior shakes his head, standing his ground, his lip curling at   
the retort] 

**Aglon**:   
You -- can't compel us to do anything. Can you? 

[he sneers over at the Captain] 

--That's what you were getting at, trying to be cryptic. 

[to the Apprentice again] 

--Can you? 

**Apprentice**: [shrugging]   
No, I can't. --But I can make things unpleasant enough that you'd wish   
you'd cooperated in the first place. 

**Aglon**:   
How? 

**Apprentice**:   
Erm . . . 

**Aglon**: [snorting]   
You can't even bluff properly, you fool. 

[his followers and associates grin savagely at the put-down] 

**Apprentice**: [shakes his head, reasonable tone]   
I wasn't bluffing, I was considering which option was the more appropriate   
one. I know which one I'd like better, but I don't think my Master would   
like it at all. So -- I'm just going to annoy you by pointing out certain   
hard truths in the presence of people you're trying to impress, one of which   
is the fact that you feel you have to impress them demonstrates that you in   
fact respect them enough to care about their respect, deny it as you may.   
You can't just walk away from them, or leave them alone -- can you? But   
they're indifferent to your good or bad opinion of them, and that's a second   
hard truth. 

[ticking the points off on his fingers, and beginning to pace restively in   
front of them -- in the background several of the would-be combatants quietly   
fade from view] 

Thirdly, you're blinded by your self-importance to the fact that you   
thereby make yourself ridiculous in the eyes of most of your fellow-dead,   
by pursuing these personal grudges beyond reason. 

[he frowns, trying to remember, and more of the rival faction discreetly slip away] 

Oh, yes -- and the fact that you always come off the worse in these little   
exchanges and yet you keep persisting in the same course says a great deal   
for your tenacity and even courage, -- but not a lot for your intelligence,   
I'm afraid. 

[pause] 

**Aglon**: [ice]   
I have better things to do than waste my time listening to your chatter. 

[he spins about with a flourish of his cape and stalks off, followed by his   
remaining fellow-partisans.] 

**Apprentice**: [cheerful]   
Success! Without having to hit anyone, either. Though I don't know I'll   
agree with his definition of "better." 

[to Finrod] 

I thought about the way you usually manage to dissipate things without   
recourse to violence, and decided to try it myself, since people just   
ignore me when I ask them nicely, and laugh when I get angry. 

[noticing that both Finrod and Amarie are both standing there glaring at him   
with identical expressions, arms folded. 

Ah. 

[to Amarie, brightly] 

There you are -- I was obliged to leave for just a moment, and when I came   
back, you were nowhere to be found. 

[she raises an eloquent eyebrow; he flinches.] 

**Finrod**: [abrupt]   
Have you got anything for me? 

**Apprentice**:   
Erm -- oh. Right. That. Ah -- hm -- becalmed. Lulled, so to speak. 

**Finrod**:   
What? 

**Apprentice**:   
Circling on a thermal. Stable. Static. Or stagnant. 

**Finrod**: [piqued, to the Captain]   
Have you any notion what he's getting at? 

[the Elven officer shakes his head, amused; the newest arrivals are giving   
Nienna's student some very strange Looks] 

**Apprentice**: [looking conspiratorially towards them]   
But -- I mean, we'll be overheard-- 

**Finrod**:   
Just say it. I'm tired, annoyed, and out of patience-- 

[the other looks alarmed] 

--nearly. 

[as the Apprentice glances meaningfully at the four bystanders] 

Go ahead -- they're all my family, after all, to greater or lesser degree. 

[bland] 

After all, if you can't trust your kin, whom can you trust? 

[while Nienna's student gives him a very askance Look, there is a great deal   
of sudden throat-clearing and turning aside of faces among the Ten; the   
law-abiding contingent bridles somewhat at this, but manage to refrain from   
comment] 

**Apprentice**:   
Well, if you say so -- your cousin suggested that recourse be made to the   
highest authorities, and was met with resistance -- but the subject of   
debate shifted again to other things, and . . . they're still arguing again   
over whether it was a mistake for our divine King and Queen to heed my   
Master's plea and release His Majesty's brother-- 

[in a rush, very forcefully] 

--and please nobody start arguing about that now, all right? -- and that's   
where things remain. 

[Finrod looks at the Captain, frowning] 

**Captain**: [shaking his head]   
That hardly seems worth the trouble of reporting, now. 

[the disguised Maia shrugs, giving Finrod an apologetic look] 

**Apprentice**:   
Sorry -- I'd actually come back to ask if you'd mind -- much -- doing me   
a favour. 

**Finrod**: [flatly]   
You're asking me a favor. 

**Apprentice**:   
Just a small one. Not you specifically. 

[encouraged by Finrod's silence, he hurries on:] 

I -- I've been given another errand to run, and I'm supposed to be keeping   
an eye on things, and I thought I had that situation under control, but then   
something unpleasant occurred to me: what if the system I set up to do that   
simply wasn't working at all, and that's why there hasn't been any alarm?   
And so I thought I'd better check. 

[blank, suspicious looks from all around -- hastily] 

You know the, um, the remote viewer over at His Lordship's throne -- that   
stone sphere, well, it's made of stone -- you haven't noticed it, well, doing   
anything, have you? 

**Finrod**:   
Such as? 

**Apprentice**:   
Glowing. 

**Finrod**:   
No. --Of course, I've not been here. 

**Apprentice**:   
I know. That's why -- 

[he glances around] 

--if anyone had happened to see, I was hoping . . . 

[the Ten share looks, headshakes all round] 

**Warrior**:   
We've not noticed anything. 

**Apprentice**:   
Would -- would you, let me know if you do? If you wouldn't mind keeping   
an eye on it? 

**Captain**:   
We can try -- but I don't know that we won't get distracted and forget.   
Things have been rather -- well, distracting, lately, to put it mildly. 

**Apprentice**:   
But-- 

[pause] 

No. Never mind. 

**Captain**:   
What? 

**Apprentice**:   
I was going to try to argue that you owed me assistance in return, but   
that isn't true, even considering the rather-underhanded way you obtained   
mine. And this -- having several tasks assigned at the same time, each   
one having top priority -- that's something that preceded it, anyway, and   
it's quite apart from it. So I really can't claim any, erm, claim on your   
time as a result of that, either. It isn't as though it's your fault.   
And you did promise to do your best. 

[raising his hands in a resigned gesture] 

Just have to muddle through somehow, I suppose. 

[frowning, noticing something about the falls] 

I say, somebody's put that all wrong again. 

[the apparent-Elf gestures towards the flame-illusions over the shallow end   
of the spill-pool, lowering them. 

**Ranger**:   
Stop that! That's someone else's work. 

**Apprentice**:   
But they're all wrong-- 

**Ranger**:   
So? You don't just come and change others' Art without leave. 

**Third Guard**:   
You used to do it all the time, I recall. 

**Ranger**:   
Yes, but I learned better. 

[pause -- frank admission] 

After the villagers complained to the King and it was explained to me.   
At some length. 

[he looks at Finrod, who raises his eyebrows bemusedly] 

Thank you, Sir. 

[to Nienna's student] 

I understand how tempting it is to remake something you think is flawed,   
but you really ought to ask first. And if they don't want to change it,   
you can't just correct it for them. That's just like Morgoth, really. 

[the disguised Maia looks quizzical, but doesn't say anything] 

**Amarie**: [officious]   
Nay, 'tis false -- the Dark One would but to break, and not to build. 

**Finarfin**:   
Yet dost thou not recall how our High King hath spoken of the Enemy's   
wish to shape all according but to his will, nor only after did so strive   
to wreck, that was not given over unto him? Of such matters Lord Ingwe   
hath most deeply questioned the gods, and hath knowledge most profound   
and widesome of us all, Vanyar, Noldor, or Teler, in truth. 

[Finrod can't help but cast a quizzical glance at the Apprentice, who looks   
suspiciously blank] 

**Amarie**:   
Yet is't not true as well, that such ill-making should be most rightly   
named destruction? 

**Finarfin**: [smiling slightly]   
Thou art most resolute, my lady. 

[she gives him an unamused Look] 

**Ranger**: [ignoring their argument]   
Anyway, you shouldn't. It's our project, not yours. Go make your own   
light-display elsewhere, if you don't like this one. 

**Apprentice**:   
But I haven't time, and I'll probably get in trouble for it. 

**Ranger**:   
That isn't our problem. 

**Apprentice**:   
Actually, it is -- only you don't care. 

[to the Ten, cajolingly] 

But don't you want it to be right? Surely you can see it's all wrong the   
way it is! 

**Ranger**:   
But it looks right. 

[appealing to the bystanders] 

Doesn't it look better the way it was? 

**Finarfin**:   
I fear I did little mark the difference. 

**Amarie**: [sniffs]   
'Tis a curious amalgam of sundries, the which might eke be little changed   
for better as for ill. 

**Ambassador**:   
I must say that I prefer the brighter display myself. 

**Nerdanel**: [consolingly to Nienna's Apprentice]   
Nay, I do confess thou hast belike the right of it, and most aptly so, for   
being of the coasts and seeing therefore most frequent th'effects of light   
on water. Yet, naytheless must I alike hold with all who hold it finer to   
the eye, to give thereto the greatest expanse of scintillation, the tallest   
of flames thereby. 

**Apprentice**: [glumly]   
Oh, all right. 

[he nods, putting the flames back as they were. Reluctant] 

They do look prettier that way . . . 

**Teler Maid**: [muttering to herself in bewilderment]   
--He is not Teler. He sounds not like to us at all! Why say they so, when   
clearly he is Vanyar? 

**Captain**: [aside to her]   
People find what they expect to find. And don't find what they don't, either. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Your riddles are as poor as ever. 

[she frowns, tossing her hair back, and stares critically at the Apprentice,   
who feels it and looks over to see her] 

**Apprentice**: [reacting with pleased surprise]   
Oh! How nice to see you out and about, talking to people finally. 

[she folds her arms and looks very prickly and put-upon] 

Despite what reservations some might have about your choice of company.   
Will you be going home soon, then? 

**Teler Maid**:   
Do not slight my friends! 

[she is joined in her glowering by Finarfin, whose glare is perhaps more   
daunting due to recent events] 

**Apprentice**: [dismayed]   
I was only joking. 

**Captain**: [sympathetic]   
Good try, bad timing. 

[Huan makes a sudden attempt to ambush the disguised Maia but is successfully   
thwarted and fended off, being obliged to remain at arm's length, held by his   
collar, grinning and panting -- next time, perhaps!] 

**Apprentice**: [mock sternness]   
There you are, you -- wretched mongrel! Lady Vaire's quite put out with   
you, and so am I, because I've been wasting my time looking for you to   
tell you to stop. What were you racing around the Halls making such an   
uproar for? 

**Beren**:   
I told him to. 

**Apprentice**: [staring]   
Why in the Music would you do that? 

**Beren**:   
He was acting kind of crazy in here so I told him to go run around outside   
for a bit. --I didn't tell him to bark, though. I don't know why he was   
doing that. 

**Finrod**: [knowingly]   
Echoes. 

[to the Steward] 

--Remember when he first came to Nargothrond and the tunnels unnerved him? 

[wincing, the Steward nods; Finrod explains to those who were not there for it:] 

He'd never been in such a large enclosed space, with such echoes, and   
they'd startle him, and he wouldn't stop barking until Cel took him out   
in the forest for a while. He was still rather unsettled in those days. 

**Captain**: [wry]   
Everyone was, then. 

**Finrod**:   
I think he rather enjoyed the ruckus as well, though, -- and the extra runs   
and treats it won him, until the newness wore off and he got bored of it   
and used to the City. 

**Beren**: [nodding agreement]   
That sounds like a dog. We had one that got scared as a puppy by Ma's   
hand-mirror, used to bark like crazy whenever she saw her reflection, even   
after she was full grown, so we were always sneaking it out and bringing   
it to the dinner table or the hearth and trying not to get caught with it. 

**Nerdanel**:   
I mind me of like happening, though indeed Huan swiftly grasped the   
illusion's truth and no more did raise alarm 'gainst the glass. But hounds   
do greatly take joy in singing, and oft and easily and with light excuse   
do lift voice in it. 

**Apprentice**: [bemused]   
How did we get back to talking about the habits of dogs? Isn't there   
anyone in Aman who can keep to the subject at hand? 

[pause] 

And now that I've managed to annoy everyone -- I really must be   
going. Good-bye. 

[spinning on his heel, he all but dashes out of the Hall, leaving the remaining   
company shaking their heads and staring after him.] 

**Nerdanel**: [half to herself]   
Who is he? Ever and anon he doth put me in mind of another one, but which,   
I cannot tell . . . 

[she, Finarfin, and Amarie turn their attention now to Finrod] 

**Finarfin**: [beginning very low key, switching tone abruptly halfway through]   
I trust and have no doubt of it, that I shall speak for us all, to enquire   
of thee -- Finrod, what matter is this, and what dost thou take upon thyself   
to meddle amidst, that seekst to interfere e'en with the deliberations of   
the Powers? 

[pause] 

**Finrod**:   
The Song, Father. 

[long pause] 

**Amarie**: [slow emphasis]   
--Thou art full as mad as all do say--! 

**Finrod**: [offhand]   
Oh, I doubt that. I don't think any dozen Elves together could manage to   
be as mad as report would have me. 

**Captain**: [aside]   
All of us together, however -- that's another matter. 

[there is a nonplused silence as the lawful Eldar struggle for meaningful   
expression of their thoughts/emotions . . .]   


* * *

**SCENE IV.xx**

[Elsewhere: the council chamber] 

[Luthien is still hand-weaving away, the pattern having expanded   
significantly in width and complexity since last we saw it -- still   
apparently paying no attention to the verbal battle in full spate over   
her head. At the moment the Lord of Dreams is upbraiding the Hunter   
with atypical acrimony:] 

**Irmo**:   
No, the real problem was the failure of you and your people to finish   
routing out all of Melkor's beastly followers and properly destroy   
all of his property so he couldn't use it again. That would have   
forestalled his ability to wage a second subversion of the Light by   
giving him no resources to fall back on. 

[jabbing his finger repeatedly upon the arm of his chair as he declaims:] 

--However, you didn't eradicate his support structures, and as a   
consequence, he was able to wreak havoc without even having to be   
in Middle-earth -- and he had a ready-made base of operations to   
encourage him to make such a move, which he wouldn't likely have   
done if he hadn't had any safe bolt-hole and servants to defend   
himself with. He was always a careful and cautious sort, not the   
type to act if he thought he was likely to come out the worst of   
it. So at the least your neglect is responsible for encouraging him-- 

**Orome**: [slouching back, very blasé -- and calculated to annoy]   
Pfft -- you think he knew that all his surviving cronies had survived   
and scuttled themselves away deep underground to regroup and rebuild?   
That git was in solitary confinement, and after he was released it   
wasn't like he had any Messengers flying over the Sea to bring him   
news. I didn't see any, at least. And I don't think any of the Sea's   
People would have been gossiping with him, do you? Not even Osse would   
give him the grace of the Hour, even after he "reformed." 

[frowning, Luthien reaches over and helps herself to some more of the   
glowing dew, spinning more luminous strands from it to add to her project] 

**Irmo**: [agitated]   
Of course he knew -- he's tied himself into everything he can reach   
over there, haven't you been following the news? Or did you just give   
up your job and retire to a country life when the Eldar embarked for   
this shore? I'm telling you, Tav, that you're being very, very, blind   
if you go on insisting it's all Nia's fault, and ignoring the fact   
that your failures contributed at least as much to the disaster as anyth-- 

**Vaire**:   
But you're forgetting the Spider, brother. --And the fact that logic   
and self-interest had very little part in anyone's response to the   
Silmarils. Rational or not, I am quite certain myself, that he would   
have tried to take them eventually -- even if he had been unable to   
enlist Her help in it. 

[pause] 

**Irmo**:   
Perhaps that's so. But even if it is, your negligence made it possible   
for him to re-entrench himself with minimal effort, whereas if you'd   
properly destroyed all of his Works he would have had to start from   
scratch, and then, regardless of what happened here, someone would have   
been able to deal with him over there -- whether us, or the rebels, or   
all of us together if there'd been no rebellion-- 

**Orome**: [a slighly nettled tone creeping in despite his efforts]   
--We spent decades mopping up. Whatever we missed was impossible to find.   
Anyone, anything that slipped through did so because of Fate. We pounded   
that place flat. There were no obvious -- or unobvious -- hiding-holes   
left when we finished. 

[Namo shakes his head, gazing into his teacup with a melancholy expression   
as he gently swirls it about] 

**Irmo**:   
Nonsense. You didn't try hard enough. Surely your specialists could   
have done a more thorough job of tracking the rest of his crew down --   
combined with selective tectonic realignment-- 

**Aule**: [sharply]   
You haven't the least notion what you're talking about. I could explain   
it to you, if you'd pay attention long enough, but I think you can   
understand when I say -- again -- that one doesn't -- doesn't, do you   
understand? -- muck about with the basic structures of the world without   
dire consequences. It would have been a fine thing, would it not, to   
eradicate the very people we were put here to protect, in the process   
of saving them from their enemies? 

**Orome**: [with a dubious look at the Smith]   
--Though I do wonder how much of your concern was for the Firstborn,   
and how much for your own Children? Honestly, what possessed you-- 

[Aule's Assistant leaps (figuratively) into the fray before it gets even uglier] 

**Aule's Assistant**: [urgent]   
--Please, please, please! Noble ones, gentles all! We are not here   
to refight old defeats, really now, are we? --If you will forgive my   
impertinence in saying so, of course. 

[abashed silence all around] 

Now, we are here, if again you will permit me to go so far as to state   
the obvious, for the purpose of solving the problem of this anomalous   
mortal presence. And -- though I am but young in the Song by comparison   
to you, my Lord -- my Lords, my Lady -- still, I might venture to say   
that it seems to me that there might well be an acceptable solution,   
if you will graciously hear me out . . . ? 

[Luthien looks up with a sudden eagerness that belies her apparent   
obliviousness and uninterest in all that's been going on, her eyes   
blazing, letting the threads of liquid light fall from her hands unheeded] 

**Luthien**: [fiercely passionate]   
--What?   


* * *

**SCENE IV.xxi**

[the Hall] 

[now Finrod and his following (which now includes not only Beren & Huan   
but also his mother's former assistant) are confronting the law-abiding   
contingent, who look extremely worried, (as do some of the Ten, admittedly)   
and expressive of definite concerns as to the level of sanity at present] 

**Finrod**: [calmingly]   
Strictly speaking, I'm not meddling with it in the sense of trying to   
change it. None of us are. 

**Amarie**:   
--Pray tell, of what others thou dost speak, that are set upon this . . .   
venture, with thee? 

[she gives the Ten a cold, suspicious look] 

**Finrod**:   
Well, everyone. Obviously. Only some of us are aware of it, and   
others aren't. 

[pause] 

**Nerdanel**:   
I confess I take not this declaration by thine ungarnish't word, all   
unavailéd of proof, child. 

**Finrod**:   
It's quite simple, really. You just do whatever it is you do, and it   
makes a difference -- subtle, usually -- in the way the Song plays out. 

**Amarie**:   
That is not by any chance possible, forasmuch as that which is done,   
shall be done only so that it is Sung, and must be so. 

**Finrod**:   
So are you saying that choice is an illusion, then? That Feanor only   
did as he did because he had to, because it was Sung, and had no   
other recourse than to deny the Earthqueen, defy the Powers, and   
summon all of us to join in his rejection? What does that make the   
gods to be, then, but hypocrites, or mad? 

[looking at the Ambassador] 

Or that my royal and holy aunt had no will nor options of her   
own, neither to betray my cousin's secret counsels nor to abet her   
in her escape, and that choosing the easiest road of unresisting   
silence was all that she might do -- rather than that the Lady Melian   
was as torn as any Elf or mortal might be in similar circumstance,   
caught between conscience and desire? 

[the Ambassador bows his head, as Finrod goes on:] 

--Do we say, then, that the Powers too are helpless in the torrent   
of the Song they helped to make, like chips of wood in a river --   
all of them, that is, except for Morgoth? That's a lot worse than   
anything I'm saying, it would seem. 

[silence] 

**Finarfin**:   
Yet thou sayest not what, most plain and simple-spoken, 'tis indeed   
thou dost, or wouldst--? 

**Finrod**: [very much the teacher]   
The way I've come to see it, there is the Song, and the Song is full   
of discords, which weren't supposed to be there. Everyone knows this,   
it's what we're taught as children, is that not so? But then what? How   
do we respond? Do we simply ignore them, and focus on the harmonious   
bits? Or do we join the discordant elements, which spread all too   
easily, and drown out the rest -- back the winning side, so to speak? 

[Amarie tosses her head in open scorn] 

**Amarie**: [very haughty]   
Indeed, but one rightful choice betwixt yon twain, nor might any not   
Turned from truth countenance other choosing to be made! 

**Finrod**:   
But who says those are the only options? 

[pause] 

Why not increase the harmony? Wouldn't it be best of all to try to   
reclaim some of the ruined parts and rebuild them, so to speak? 

**Nerdanel**: [amazed]   
Thou -- deemst self able to unwork the makings of the greatest of   
all the Powers, after Lord Manwe even, even to restore the Great   
Pattern as 'twere unbroken and ne'er was, ere the Marring? 

**Finrod**: [shaking his head]   
Oh, no. I'm no match for a god -- nor even a demi-god, and who knows   
it better than I? But isn't that what was done in the first place,   
to stop the whole of Ea from being made a wreck like Utumno, like   
Angband? So, then, is it not a worthy goal -- even knowing it Doomed   
to failure -- to try to repair what one can, restore harmony even for   
a few notes out of the Age, to the best of one's ability? 

**Finarfin**: [mildly, shaking his head with a look of bemusement]   
--And thou deemst thyself no wise ambitious? 

**Amarie**: [earnest]   
Nay, this is true madness -- else worse, that thou dost set upon such   
path as the Marrer's self did make, striving in truth to set all to   
thine own will, else other there be none, to overstrike the fashioning   
the Powers -- nay, indeed, the One! -- did adjudge at end to best   
resolve the Dark One's changes-- 

**Finrod**: [interrupting her]   
--No, you see, that's the difference, what we do, knowingly or   
unknowingly, to restore harmony doesn't replace what's been changed   
-- that's not even possible, without worrying about the right or wrong   
of it -- it's just adding to it, the way you resolve a chord, turn   
a harsh note to poignancy, or a weak note glorious, by giving more   
sounds -- and the addition changes it, completely. Or like the story we   
all know about ice -- cold being tried as a way of stopping everything,   
but instead, through constructive application of new notes, resulting   
in snow crystals and frozen waterfalls and icebergs and all sorts of   
beautiful things that have their own fitting places in the world. There   
might be in principle a better way to have composed it, but working   
with what we're given, it's an improvement. 

[pause] 

**Beren**:   
Maybe it's kind of like when part of the hall's been wrecked by a storm   
or a fire or just the posts getting rotted out, and you don't tear it all   
down, you just fix up what's there, maybe not the same way, but you still   
gotta live there while you're working on it, and maybe the new way works   
better for something else? 

**Finrod**:   
That too. And sometimes it means going against advice, and even common   
sense, and even yes, breaking rules and disobeying orders. 

[he stares defiantly at Amarie, who gives it right back to him, while Nerdanel   
looks thoughtful and Beren asks the Guard next to him:] 

**Beren**: [aside]   
Is he talking about the Return? 

[the Elven shade nods] 

**Finrod**:   
And paying the price for it, of course. Always. 

**Finarfin**: [looking thoughtfully at the Ten]   
And hold all thy folk with these thy curious tenets, else theorems,   
whichever they be, or art the only proponent of such . . . strangeness? 

**Finrod**:   
Not the only, certainly, but certainly not all. Some find it far too   
complicated or too troubling-- 

[the Warrior looks abashed, but Finrod gives him a sympathetic grin and goes on] 

--and I grant it's much easier to look at it as just a matter of doing wrong   
and receiving the just penalty for it. Or not breaking rules, and not doing   
wrong. Others find it far too optimistic -- and I can't deny that, either. 

[he and the Steward share a meaningful Look] 

**Nerdanel**:   
Nay, I confess it seemeth little of cheer, to hold that one needs must   
do that which is forbid, and that avisedly-so, and suffer after for the   
doing, and all for chance that good may come to pass of it, but little   
like, and how then may one know of surety which is good or which   
is ill, when all law be set aside as subject to disdain? 

**Amarie**: [sharply to the Ambassador]   
Hast thou heard such heretical uttrances, my lord, of him in thy lands --   
or did he perchance learn such justifying words of thy shadowed folk? 

**Ambassador**: [unruffled]   
Many such deep matters are often spoken of, when my Lady Melian is   
present, and many thoughts put forward, and questions asked, to which   
not one, but many answers may be offered, and each but bear another   
riddle to the questioner. 

[bows] 

--Milady. 

**Finrod**: [disregarding Amarie for the moment]   
No, Aunt 'Danel, it isn't like that, of course you can't ignore everything   
and of course you can't do anything. But I did say it was too complex for   
many people. 

[she looks rather miffed, as he continues:] 

As far as being too cheerful, that isn't what Edrahil's objecting to --   
but there's more to it. You see-- 

[he is interrupted as a pair of Elvish shades enter (or as it proves re-enter)   
the Hall: the Youngest Ranger who is still rather twitchy and hypervigilant,   
quickly draws another arrow and sets it to the bow he has not reslung since   
the last conflict, but only keeps it trained on the latest arrivals -- even   
when it become clear that they are the King's brothers.] 

**Aegnor**: [snappish]   
Oh, good grief! --Put that away! 

[he ignores the fact that the Teler warrior doesn't, and with Angrod strides   
up to the ongoing family reunion.] 

**Fourth Guard**: [aside]   
--Who's using mortal slang now? 

**Aegnor**: [with a bright, fixed, savagely pleasant smile]   
Quite the little Gathering you've got going on here, Finrod. Taking over   
hospitality functions along with counseling and building maintenance, hm? 

[to Amarie] 

Hullo, dear sister -- you've met our newest cousin, I believe? 

[he nods towards Beren, and she frowns, first curiously, then in sudden   
thought, but he goes on before she can say anything:] 

You were right when you said we'd all come to a bad end, you know --   
but I never expected to see you here as well-- 

**Finrod**: [sharply]   
Why are you here? 

**Angrod**: [trying to calm things down]   
We could tell you were in trouble so we came to help. 

**Finrod**: [snippy]   
Well, it wasn't needful -- I could have managed it on my own, there   
weren't enough of you to make a difference if I hadn't, and you're   
too late anyway. But -- I thank you for the intention. 

**Captain**:   
Better late than later, what? 

[the two siblings do not appreciate this at all; he gestures to his subordinate   
to stop covering them, and the Sindarin Ranger denocks the arrow, but doesn't   
put his weapons away.] 

**Finrod**:   
If you hadn't been dithering about what you were going to say to Father   
et al, you might have got here in time to provide moral support. As it is   
you managed to get the worst of both outcomes. 

[Aegnor is resolutely avoiding looking at Finarfin, who is in turn looking   
very sadly at his children. Nerdanel draws near and pats his arm consolingly.   
Amarie does not seem to have been successfully deflected by Aegnor's attempt   
to direct her attention to Beren. The Ambassador from Doriath is looking   
at his King's grand-nephews and shaking his head.] 

**Angrod**: [sighing]   
Please don't be difficult. --We're trying not to. 

[pause] 

**Finrod**:   
Very well. 

[he turns back to the conversation as if there hadn't been any interruption] 

Anyway, Father, what I was saying was, it isn't an attempt to change the   
Song from what it was intended to be originally, or to make it back into   
what it was intended to be, either. 

**Nerdanel**:   
Thou has returnéd upon thine own words most uncommon paradoxical. 

**Finrod**:   
No, it isn't really that complicated, listen-- 

[Aegnor addresses Beren quietly, in a tone gruff, but surprisingly polite,   
considering] 

**Aegnor**: [aside]   
Has he said the word "destiny," yet, Beor? 

**Beren**: [wary]   
Uh -- not recently. I -- don't think. 

**Aegnor**:   
Not in this conversation? 

[Beren shakes his head, Aegnor elbows his other sibling and shakes his head.] 

Six. 

**Angrod**: [a bit guiltily]   
--Twelve. 

[Beren gives them an uneasy look, and then glances at the Ten, who are either   
ignoring them or ignoring them obviously] 

**Finrod**:   
--because it can't be put right without undoing the World, but it can be   
mended. The gods can't do everything -- we just help them out a little.   
If we do good, that is, and not ill. 

[Amarie closes her eyes, shaking her head in exasperation] 

**Amarie**:   
Nay, thy pride surpasseth all no measure, for 'tis deeper than Osse's   
crests, wider than Uinen's tresses, and ceaseless as the restive Sea!   
Hast thou not shame, to so set limits to the very Powers? 

**Finrod**: [baffled]   
But surely you don't think they're all-powerful, all-knowing? That's   
what I said before -- that if you think that, then you have to either   
accept that they're completely deranged, -- or just plain evil. 

**Finarfin**:   
Why "plain" evil, indeed and how differeth such from evil of other kind? 

**Finrod**: [rolling his eyes]   
It's an emphatic. It means evil, and nothing more, no justification.   
--The Song is too big -- there's too much of it for any one soul to   
understand, god or not. 

**Beren**:   
Yeah, like the myth about the Earth-queen forgetting how she'd already   
made herself Children, too, until King Manwe reminded her. 

**Amarie**: [apalled]   
Thou didst speak of that to all-and-sundry? 'Tis not enough hast gossiped   
of me, of us! but must e'en bruit about the private quarrels of the Holy   
Ones as well? 

**Beren**: [frowning]   
You mean he shouldn't have taught us the true stories, when we only had   
the foggiest ideas about Valinor? We thought it was in Beleriand, even.   
And we-- 

**Finrod**: [a little too quickly]   
And because of that, even if things are Sung, it doesn't mean that   
freedom's but an illusion, because there's all the difference in the   
world between a piece composed and the actual performance, which is what   
we are, this world, only we're also the performers, don't you see? and   
moreover there are so many competing and conflicting and just plain   
different things going on, that the results when they collide or overlap   
or run together are something no one, not even the Singers, could have   
predicted. 

[gesturing animatedly with increasing enthusiasm] 

--Or like waves, out against the coast, they don't come neatly up to the   
headlands in even rows, though logically they ought to always, and keep   
on so - but they cross, and divert, and set up overtones, and then there's   
the Moon, and that rearranged everything! Because there are the completely   
mysterious parts, that the Powers themselves didn't put in, and no one   
knows what they'll do, or how they will affect the Song -- and us, that are   
of it -- and all we know for certain is the destiny of Arda will be changed   
out of all expectation. 

**Aegnor**:   
Told you. 

[Angrod takes off the ornate torc around his neck and gives it to his sibling.   
Finrod sighs, tolerant but a little disappointed-seeming.] 

**Beren**:   
What? 

[pause] 

What are you two betting on? 

[now that everyone is looking at them, the Princes are unsuccessfully trying   
to hide embarrassment with nonchalance] 

**Angrod**:   
Erm -- the question of how long -- or little -- time, how many exchanges,   
it would be before-- 

[he can't meet Finrod's gaze, and breaks off] 

**Aegnor**:   
--Before he started talking about his visions and this cracked idea he   
has about how the world will be after the end of the world. 

[silence] 

**Finrod**: [calmly]   
Not visions. There's just the one. And I'm not mad. 

[Beren glances around with a wary expression] 

**Beren**:   
Um. I feel really stupid asking this, and maybe it's obvious to everybody   
here who isn't human, but -- isn't "the world after the end of the world"   
a something-or-other, whatsit, uh, you know, a-- 

**Steward**: [quick and unobtrusive]   
--Contradiction in terms. 

**Beren**:   
Yeah. That. 

[before Finrod can begin to explain, his brother cuts in:] 

**Aegnor**: [caustic]   
Hasn't he told you? You're supposed to save the universe or something. 

**Beren**:   
--Me? 

**Aegnor**:   
Well, obviously, since you've managed to pull off marrying one of the   
Firstborn. Luthien too, since she's managed the corollary. It's got to be   
the case that you're the ones to bring about this great destiny, to carry   
out this vision of his, because otherwise you wouldn't have been any --   
luckier -- than your aunt and myself. You're just pawns of Fate, you see. 

**Beren**:   
--What?? 

[he looks around at them all, baffled and not a little disturbed; the Captain   
covers his face with his hands] 

**Captain**   
Dear Lady, here we go again -- please no! 

[Finrod glares at his brothers with smouldering anger, well under control,   
but appearing for the first time] 

**Finrod**:   
I thought you were not here to cause me difficulty, nor to harrass him,   
but to help. 

[to Beren, rather helplessly] 

There is a -- a prophesy, so to speak. But it's only mine. Not the gods'.   
And it -- it isn't a definite one. Not like the one for my death. And you   
remember how -- uncertain, that one was, how I told you it seemed as   
though it were about to be fulfilled at the Bragollach -- and would have   
been, were it not for your kindred. I didn't only help you to somehow   
further my own convictions, as if -- as if you two were some sort of   
experiment. 

**Beren**: [shaking his head]   
Have I ever doubted you, Sir? I understood why you thought we were   
a bad idea when you talked about it with me in the City. Even before   
I knew about the problems in your -- our -- family. 

[at this last, Finarfin looks from them across to his other two sons, who   
hastily look away from his gaze] 

I wouldn't have thought you protected me just to obey a prophecy or   
some ulterior motive. But if you thought that some great destiny had to   
be involved for us to get together in the first place, then it makes sense   
that you'd go along with it in spite of your doubts, and maybe for that   
reason let your judgement get overrode by enthusiasm. And I don't think   
it makes any difference one way or other for you helping me, any more than   
than your being dead or your debt to Da. 

[nodding towards Aegnor and Angrod] 

--I don't listen to these guys, anyway. It's not like I know them or   
anything, not like you. 

[the Princes look severely disgruntled, the Ten wickedly pleased] 

Go on -- I'm not gonna get upset. 

**Finrod**:   
All -- all right. 

**Amarie**: [aside]   
The very Powers daunt him not a whit, yet this Follower child confoundeth   
him that ne'er did I see uncertain . . . ! 

**Finrod**: [a little weary and flat, now]   
It seems to me that all of us are Called to something, whether we know   
it or not, and perhaps we -- the Firstborn -- are helpless to work against   
the Song, the parts of it that are Marred or otherwise, with any real   
effect because we are too closely bound to it to change it, too close to   
see it properly, the way one must step back from any Work to judge it in   
its setting and overall. But the Secondborn are not, and what we Elves have   
have thought of as weaknesses, to be pitied and feared, might be instead   
strengths, to be used for good or ill to reshape the world. --For good,   
of course, is my hope. 

**Beren**:   
You mean that we -- mortals, us -- might have been put here to help undo   
the Marring? 

[he looks around to see if the Eldar around him think this is a joke, but not   
even the Princes are smiling in derision] 

And that my finding Tinuviel was supposed to be part of that? 

**Finrod**:   
Yes. 

**Huan**:   
[quiet keening, not quite loud enough to be obnoxious] 

**Beren**:   
Huh. 

[pause -- Finrod looks at him anxiously, but when he continues it is a bit   
sadly, but not anguished:] 

I think -- probably we already did it, only -- I botched it all up.   
--The Silmarils. 

**Finrod**: [shaking his head, earnest]   
You're still here. The story isn't over yet. You don't know that that   
was the reason for your existence, the Great Work you were meant to do.   
It might not even be anything, not a thing like the Trees or the Silmarils,   
or a Deed like finding the Children and leading them West. I thought mine   
was Nargothrond, and then I realized that it wasn't, and that was a   
terrible shock -- but I had to keep doing it, I couldn't just stop and   
do something else. 

**Nerdanel**:   
And what, child, dost thou hold this Great Work of thine to be, that   
thou dost strive for but makest not, if not indeed the mending of all   
that's Marred? 

**Finrod**: [faint smile]   
I don't know, yet. If I tell you my suspicions, you'll have no doubts as   
to my sanity at all. 

**Finarfin**: [deadpan]   
Nay, but doubt after which fashion, absent or present? 

[Finrod starts to share a grin with his father, and then checks himself;   
the living King sighs and looks away] 

**Nerdanel**:   
Hast not fear to offend the Valar further, that hast been so gently pardoned   
and thy transgression set aside? 

**Finrod**: [blinking]   
No. I . . . am already dead, I have no job nor place left to go back to   
in the world Without, and my lady doesn't want anything to do with me. 

[Amarie spins half away, her arms folded tensely; he does not notice] 

What else could they do to me, assuming they were so inclined? But   
arguing the ins and outs of the universe with Lord Namo and his family   
isn't particularly stressful, in any case -- his Lordship gets impatient   
sometimes, but not offended. A little brusque, but that's just his manner. 

**Aegnor**: [grimacing]   
No, Aunt 'Danel, he's just crazy, that's all. 

[simultaneously:]   
**Beren**:   
Hey, you shouldn't call Lord Mandos crazy--   
**Finrod**:   
No, I think the Doomsman's quite sane-- 

[Aegnor snorts in disgust, while other family members look on in disbelief   
or resignation] 

**Angrod**: [aside to Aegnor]   
You certainly set yourself up for that one. 

**Finarfin**:   
Thou speakest, son, with such little deference as the Powers were   
thy very kin! 

[brief pause] 

**Finrod**:   
Well -- they are. 

[longer pause] 

Yours too. All of you. 

[the silence continues, though most of the Ten are finding it hard to keep   
from breaking it] 

I'm not crazy -- am I? 

[this to the Doriathrin lord] 

**Ambassador**:   
Our Lady is most certainly of the Powers. 

[with an apologetic glance towards Finarfin and Nerdanel] 

--And as certainly kin to your children, so I am forced to conclude that   
the same holds true for you. 

**Finrod**:   
See? 

[before any of them can comment on this] 

And it's been true all along, only we didn't know it, because we didn't   
know what happened to Mother's uncle. And now it's true three different   
ways -- by marriage, by blood, and by marriage again. 

[the Ambassador winces; so do Finrod's brothers, but his father and aunt only   
look puzzled] 

--Marriage, to Elu; blood, through their daughter our cousin, Luthien;   
marriage, by Luthien too. 

[this does not dispel their confusion, but rather increases it all around] 

**Angrod**: [frowning]   
No. That doesn't work. You can't count Luthien twice, Finrod. 

**Finrod**:   
I can't? 

**Steward**:   
I fear he is correct, my lord -- through Lady Luthien you may now claim   
kinship with Beren, for that prior bond of blood that unites your and her   
common ancestors; but that does not permit you to reckon the Princess   
as kindred anew, through that marital bond in reverse, as though she were   
now her own sister-in-law. 

**Finrod**: [blankly]   
Are you sure? 

[his counselor nods, his expression quite sober -- but there is a faint twinkle   
of amusement to match Finrod's own] 

**Teler Maid**: [loudly]   
Oh, he is being most silly, and all for to madden you, can you not see it? 

[everyone stares at her] 

Do not all look at me, or -- or I will vanish, I promise! 

[she ducks back behind the Ten in an attack of shyness] 

**Finarfin**: [to the ceiling]   
I do believe that here is one Maiwe, whose songs my hall long hath missed,   
and my lady as long withal and more of grief than merest echoes' lamentation.   
Oft hath Earwen asked of me, whether of deed, or of undoing, what wrong   
we did thee that thou shouldst rather gray death prefer, thereunto our House? 

**Teler Maid**: [calling from the background]   
No! I mean, it was never your fault, good my lord. --Or my lady's.   
Please do you tell her I am sorry from me. 

**Finrod**: [dry]   
I think she's only accepting family apologies in person, Maiwe -- though   
she might make an exception, you only being a cousin six or eight times   
removed, wasn't it? 

[Finarfin sighs, looking as though disappearing sounds like a very good option] 

**Nerdanel**: [to the Steward]   
Indeed, it did clean fly from my mind, that I had meant to ask of thee:   
is this the same young Teler whose name was so frequent coupled with   
thine own, by many tongues, saving ne'er thine own? Is she thy true-love,   
in truth, Enedrion? 

[longish pause] 

**Steward**:   
For my part, the answer should be yes. 

**Finarfin**: [sternly]   
What web of words dost thou make e'en now? 

**Steward**:   
None -- presently. Your question is nigh unanswerable, my lord: do I say   
no, as it seems the present truth now rests, I shall most infallibly make   
it thus; but if on the contrary I declare it so, then such presumption   
should, I deem, have but the same result in the end. 

[while his hearers are trying to decipher this, the subject of their discussion   
emerges from cover again, her arms folded and a very impatient expression on   
her face] 

**Teler Maid**:   
He would say that I will be angry with him no matter what he says, and then   
I shall not be, but he wishes that I were. 

[she looks at him in amazement] 

You have confessed your love for me, and before your own great House, and   
strangers--! Nor act you as if ashamed of that no more than of me for all   
my folly . . . and so did I ever hope for, and now you do thus, -- and I am   
afeared of you for your readiness to strike, and more so for your cleverness,   
that even here you might twist words to deceive and confuse, and belike you   
do so even now to win me subject to you once again, and how shall I ever   
know you are true then? 

[her voice is almost a wail at the end, and she wrings the ends of her braids   
distractedly while he only looks at her seriously, saying nothing] 

**Nerdanel**:   
Alas, poor child! 

**Teler Maid**: [drawing herself together in sudden temper]   
I am not a poor child! 

[sullenly] 

Well . . . perchance. --Stop talking over me! You are here to harry Lord   
Ingold, are you not? 

[Finrod's relatives look at each other askance, while the Ambassador shakes   
his head wryly] 

**Finrod**: [easily]   
Just my lady, as it happens, Sea-Mew. The rest of them are actually here   
to harry Beren's. It's merely happened to work out that way. But that's   
all right. 

[to his family] 

Of course she's correct, I was jesting -- except not to annoy so much   
as to anneal the conversation with humour before it fractured from the   
stress. You're all worried about the wrong things. 

**Aegnor**:   
It gets better, you see. 

[his eldest brother gives him a warning Look] 

**Finarfin**:   
Indeed, and some such form of it hath reached unto the multitude, else   
some such semblance of these discourses. --But I had for my part   
rather hear it out most plain and free of mitigations. 

**Finrod**:   
Don't worry -- I'll gladly incriminate myself further. The substance of it   
is this: the world is broken, the Song distorted past all hope of restoration   
-- even if it were somehow possible to overcome the Enemy and repair   
the effects of his destructive acts all in a moment, that wouldn't make it   
whole, wouldn't undo what was done, nor make it other than a botched   
mess suffering from the lack of all those that were lost as a result. So.   
We either have to say the whole project was ultimately a failure -- which   
certainly could be the case -- or that we're missing part of the pattern,   
and that's what I've Seen. This isn't the whole of it at all. Unless you're   
willing to admit that the One is a worse loser than I am, the hypothesis   
that there will be another Song that will make the world anew is the   
only one that makes any sense. 

[this has a predictable effect on his Vanyar bride, and not much less on   
his other hearers, rebel or not -- even repeated exposure to such heresies   
has not entirely dulled the impact. His father, not seeming as troubled by   
all this radical speculation as his companions, glances at Beren before   
looking at his eldest once more.] 

**Finarfin**:   
Whence cometh thy certainty the Secondborn shall have part in this --   
new Music, even as the Ainur, and greater verily than we? 

**Finrod**: [flippantly]   
Well, they've got to be doing something after the world ends, right?   
You don't think the Timeless Halls are just going to be filled with   
bored spirits playing pointless games like us here, surely? 

[someone behind him snickers nervously -- Beren and his father   
however only look at him with sincere questioning, and he sighs,   
going on in earnest] 

Because they are part of the correction, and so -- assuming of course   
the One is at least a little better organized than we are -- the   
ideal world is not as some of our family have argued one in which   
there are no other Children than ourselves, but one in which their   
music is not drowned out nor co-opted by either ours nor the Enemy's:   
they were made to answer the first Discords, so the only question is   
what shape does that purpose take? 

**Amarie**: [interrupting]   
Yet even so are we, and to us hath been given understanding of the   
cosmos, that by virtue of our nature alike as our ceaseless days   
doth possess a greater breadth and potentiality than might any brief   
transient soul. 

[he nods seriously] 

**Finrod**:   
And that is all we know. We don't know how to give it up -- how to   
to look at it as the Powers must, as something apart from them yet   
dear to them, that they must outlast with sorrow as a parent who   
outlives children, and which cannot be grasped at nor held from   
death forever -- because we can't. In that way we're closer to   
Morgoth than we might think-- 

[simultaneously:] 

**Amarie**: [cutting him off]   
Out on thee--!   
**Ambassador**: [frowning, very perturbed]   
Why do you say th-- 

[Aegnor has been endeavoring to contain himself, but the endeavor fails.] 

**Aegnor**: [talking over them both]   
So none of it matters, not Miriel, not the Kinslaying, not the killing   
of the Trees, not the torture and slavery of the ones left behind or the   
poisoning of the lands, because it's all going to be done over properly,   
you see -- this is all no more than erasing out bits on a rough sketch-- 

[as his brother and several of his Following start to answer at once, and   
chaos is about to take over, Nerdanel interjects, raising her hand:] 

**Nerdanel**: [forcefully]   
Be ye still, my kinsmen. 

[to Finrod, her tone dryly meaningful] 

Though the impulsive force of mine own speech be haply less by some   
degree than thy brother's, as hath been given to me to understand these   
several years -- still it doth much incline upon the same direction as   
mine own, forasmuch as such a . . . recasting should most greatly disdain   
all that hath preceded it, and make no reckoning of the griefs eke the   
glories of the former Day. 

**Finrod**:   
So all the many years of struggle and pain to perfect an art are   
worthless? The burns, the cuts -- the half-finished works that aren't   
quite right, but still have beauty in themselves, worthless? The efforts   
-- repeated -- to learn to play or sing in proper balance, weighing and   
subordinating individual perfection and sublimity to the whole and with   
regard to every performer's own abilities, meaningless because directed   
to a greater purpose, mastering of beauty that encompasses all prior   
work? You wouldn't say that about anything made within Arda -- so why   
say that of the world itself? 

**Ambassador**: [guardedly]   
From both your words and the unspoken implication of them, I must guess,   
Sire, that you hold your vision to have come from a Source other than   
either of the usual channels -- that is to say, neither Beyond the --   
this continent, as rarely if ever has been possible since the Dark   
One's Return, nor from the currents and tides of Ea itself, bearing   
message and meaning either as cargo or riddle, freight to be unpacked   
or deciphered or set into the mosaic of days, as the early flight of   
birds in autumn. Do I take your meaning aright? 

[clearly this means something significant to the gathered Elves, from their   
expressions, as Beren looks at them, trying to piece out the overtones   
and undertones of the conversation; the center of the intellectual storm   
is undisturbed by this challenge:] 

**Finrod**:   
Yes, that is rather the obvious conclusion, since working within   
a closed system doesn't usually give rise to variables and outcomes   
hinging on factors not part of that system. But surely you don't want   
to assert that such isn't possible--? 

**Amarie**: [hotly]   
Aye, and for what shall it be given unto thee? 

[Finrod shrugs] 

**Finrod**:   
I don't know. I've no idea why a god spoke to me out of the night and   
told me to build a City either -- why me, that is. The benefits of a   
hidden stronghold being obvious to even pacifists, I should hope. 

**Captain**: [reasonably]   
You don't know that he didn't Call anyone besides you and your cousin,   
as it's proven from the White Lady's words. It could be, Sire, that   
the rest of us were simply deaf to it. 

**Nerdanel**:   
Ar-Feiniel is slain as well? 

**Ranger**: [aside, shaking his head]   
We should just make a list and hand it round. 

**Soldier**:   
Out of what? Stone? 

**Third Guard**:   
And think how long it would have to be. 

**Aegnor**: [brightly, not looking at Beren at all]   
Yes, she married some local fellow there under questionable   
circumstances -- and he killed her. 

[predictably, they all look at Beren, who looks miserable] 

**Huan**:   
[sharp growling bark] 

**Finrod**: [pleasantly, to his lawful kin]   
Excuse me for a moment while I berate my sibling. 

[turns and grabs Aegnor by the shoulder, furious] 

All right, I've just about had it with you. I've taken your guilting   
about Lady Andreth and about my failure to convince the High Command   
to invade Angband because I'm not completely free of blame and I feel   
sorry for you. But you know, I really didn't have the power to make   
anyone obey me. You didn't have to listen to me telling you what you   
wanted to hear-- 

[as his brother raises his hand] 

Go on, hit me, that's part of my job, isn't it? -- to make the   
unpopular decisions so no one else has to and take the blame for   
the consequences, because there are always consequences, and never   
make mistakes, never be wrong, because I'm the King. --How dare I   
get myself into a situation I couldn't get out of, trying to save   
your lives? How dare I lose the Northwest Passage, and the North, and   
Nargothrond? You might almost think it was Fated, now, mightn't you? 

[Angrod tries to intervene, but doesn't get a chance] 

--And when it comes to it, why weren't you able to convince your   
own best friends that an attack was in everyone's best interests?   
Hm? Why didn't you work on getting Cel to push his brothers into   
going along? Though I gather you did -- so why didn't you succeed? 

[letting go of Aegnor and gesturing widely] 

I couldn't solve all your problems for you in Beleriand, and guess   
what, I can't solve them here either. I'm sorry about that, that   
I can't fix everything that's gone wrong on either side of the Sea   
-- the Starmaker knows I tried, as well as failed, even if you don't   
-- and I'm sorry I couldn't even avenge you -- but right now there   
is a problem that possibly I can affect, and must at least endeavor   
to, and if it is a matter painful to us both, and cannot but bring   
to heart that sorrow afresh, still must we endure it. 

[a little quieter] 

I'm not asking you to believe me. Nor even to help our cousin and   
our friend. I only insist that you not cause any more problems for   
them. --But that is all I'm going to say to you on the subject. One   
way or another. Do you understand? 

[snorting] 

If you don't, or won't, -- then get out of my sight. Now. 

[Aegnor stares at him, his mouth working, but unable to speak; torn   
between hauling off and slamming his eldest, and vanishing, he flickers   
for a moment, then pulls away and stands a little ways off, his arms   
folded, his eyes closed in pain. Huan comes up to huff comfortingly   
in his ear, and gets a hard shove on his nose for his pains; meanwhile   
Finrod turns back to the conversation, and the horrified gazes of his   
family. Puzzled:] 

--What? 

**Ambassador**: [warily]   
You . . . displayed ill-humour, Majesty -- if I may understate. 

**Finrod**: [still slightly manic]   
Yes, well, it does happen from time to time. 

[his relatives are all still taken aback: ironically] 

--It isn't as though I drew a blade on him, after all. 

**Teler Maid**: [almost whispering]   
But -- you shouted at him . . . 

[their reaction leaves him a bit off-balance -- he looks at the Ten for   
reassurance, and gets it, if a bit strangely:] 

**Steward**:   
Considering, my lord, that of all us that are present I have known   
you the longest, the latest, and the most continuous, and I have   
only seen you mastered by anger four times in as many yen -- to   
your cousins, at Alqualonde; your father, at Araman; against the   
Enemy on the battlefield at the Sudden Flame, and towards Nargothrond   
at our exiling -- it is I believe infrequent enough to warrant marvel. 

[with a shrewd look at all the Finarfinions] 

There were perhaps other occasions when I was not present to witness,   
certainly, and I do not reckon such situations where a severe rebuke   
was required and furnished with appropriate mannerims -- of which   
last I incline to judge this latest outburst, at least in part. 

[pause] 

**Finrod**:   
Somewhere near half -- I'm not sure of the exact proportion, myself.   
I trust there won't be another occasion for it in the near future,   
either. 

[picking up where he left off again] 

So, anyhow -- it depends on how you look at it, whether you see it   
as contradiction, as change, or as but a wider understanding of Fate   
than we've grown up accepting, unquestioningly. I don't think it's as   
radical or unsettling as everyone seems to believe: after all, I'm not   
saying that the Song won't end and we along with it -- only that there   
will be a new Music, and everything made new in it. --As we should   
have been. 

**Amarie**:   
All? 

[he nods] 

Dost reckon full the consequence of this thy claim? Even unto Morgoth,   
verily? 

[again he nods, seriously; clearly she wants to say more, but it's too   
much to be able to get out] 

**Beren**: [unfolding realization]   
That's what you meant. That's -- what you were trying to tell me   
when -- right before -- before you died. When you said . . . we   
might not meet again, but maybe it would be all right somehow.   
I thought -- after -- you meant about-- 

[nodding towards Huan] 

--that they might win. Not that we'd meet like this -- or after . . .   
after the after-everything. 

**Finrod**: [softly]   
I didn't dare raise any false hope -- I owed you honesty, not comforting   
lies, but -- I couldn't leave you with nothing but my failure, when I   
might be right after all. --I never Saw this, though. 

[worried] 

Are you -- angry with me, for telling you no more of my vision than   
that "maybe" --? 

[Beren looks at him fondly, shaking his head] 

**Beren**:   
You spoke truer than you knew, then. 

**Captain**: [aside]   
Thank you, my Lady! 

**Beren**: [hesitant, but earnest]   
Maybe -- maybe again, too . . . ? 

**Amarie**: [to Finrod, with a drastic gesture, very agitated]   
Nay, this madness doth far outpace thine eldest uncle's! Which shall   
be worse, I ken not -- to grasp even at eternity, nor rest content with   
all that hath been given us -- else to proclaim that such as he shall   
stand beside the Powers as gods verily -- else to hold thou knowest   
better far than even holy Manwe how this Ea is, and shall even be,   
withal, as thou wert Varda herself to grant such clarity unto the   
greatest of the cosmos? Hast thou not dread -- nay, I speak not of   
shame to thee! -- concerning of their affront, to hear of this thy   
foolish pridefulness? 

**Nerdanel**:   
Nay, dost thou truly hold the gods ken naught of thy love's certainties?   
Think, child! 

[as Amarie gives her an affronted look in turn:] 

--Whence came yon troublesome rumours, the truth of which we have so   
plainly heard outspoken? 

[to Finrod:] 

'Tis a most fair dream, to be sure, and the greater part of mine own   
counter to it hath fled like the molten flux before the most burning   
proof: that well indeed thou kennst this world its sorrow, nor recketh   
lightly of it, nor deemst it but foundation to the rest, as 'twere nay   
than the crushing of gravel fine to set beneath the footing of a lofty   
pergola. Yet still I may not but acknowledge it as shown, that thine   
hope of Arda Envinyanta is aught other than thy wish, from earliest   
days, that all thy kin might dwell together in peace and all their   
rivalries be given o'er, and now thou hast found to thyself more kinfolk   
even, and would of thy most generous spirit gather all these as well,   
about thee for ever more. 

[as he starts to protest once more] 

Nay, I confess I would most gladly consent with thee, saving that   
my doubt, that hath seen all fair beginnings fall to wrack and ruin,   
and every clarity made dark, and how joy turneth ever unto sorrow,   
findeth it still nor ever too light a resolution. --But, youngling,   
thou dost self little service, to win thy theorem hearing, thus to   
make utterance in manner so short and prideful, as wert all ways plain   
and manifest, and only fools might not see it likewise. 

**Finrod**:   
. . . 

[she does not look away, and he turns after a moment to the Steward. 

--Edrahil -- am I being proud and impatient about it? 

**Steward**:   
Aye, my lord, and so should I declare even did I hold with it. 

[Finrod looks towards the Captain, who nods agreement soberly,   
and then back to his relatives] 

**Finrod**:   
Sorry. I suppose I was a bit overbearing. 

**Finarfin**:   
Such shall be ever hazard of this our lordly duty, I fear. 

[his eldest gives him a wary glance, which becomes more uncertain when he   
sees the living King's expression is rueful amusement, not sarcasm] 

**Angrod**: [shaking his head]   
For myself, I'd like to know what Galadriel would have said to all this.   
I can't imagine our sister wouldn't bring a measure of cold reality to   
temper the conversation. 

[at Finrod's Look] 

--I'm only saying what I think-- 

**Nerdanel**: [interrupting]   
--Indeed, and another matter that all that's followed did drive   
from recollection: wherefore the meaning-insolence of my former   
vassals in their words concerning thy youngest sibling, that she   
of all of ye did swiftest and most fully take to the other Shore? 

**Aegnor**: [over his shoulder, shrugging]   
Probably they were talking about how she and her husband took off on   
that expedition retracing the March with a bunch of fellow lunatics.   
Or else just that she moved to Menegroth in the first place. 

**Finarfin**:   
Artanis hath wed?!? 

**Finrod**:   
Oh, that's right-- 

**Finarfin**:   
Or when-- 

**Finrod**: [frowning]   
Hm. --Edrahil, do you recall-- 

**Finarfin**: [keeping going]   
--Or unto whom? 

[somewhat exciteably the Sea-elf points to Beren, with an "I know   
this!" attitude:] 

**Teler Maid**:   
To one of his cousins! 

**Beren**:   
Uh, that's gonna conf-- 

**Nerdanel**: [to her nephews, in greater astonishment]   
--Thy sister also hath taken a mortal consort? 

**Ambassador**: [quickly]   
--By marriage, gentles -- that is to say, one of l--Lady Luthien's   
cousins, of royal Olwe's kindred, the Lord Celeborn. 

[Finarfin looks more bewildered than relieved] 

**Angrod**: [reproachful]   
You didn't tell them? 

**Finrod**: [staring at him innocently]   
No, somehow it seems to have slipped my mind, what with being   
preoccupied trying to save the universe, anger the Powers and oh,   
by-the-by, pack in four-hundred-going-on-five years' worth of   
adventures into what seemed like half-an-hour, not to mention   
all the interruptions and-- 

[chastened, Angrod raises his hand in appeal, in a gesture and manner   
very typical of his eldest sibling] 

**Angrod**:   
Ingold -- please. 

[without any warning a banshee screech of unmitigated fury echoes   
throughout the entire Hall, startling everyone, though there is   
no visible source] 

**Beren**: [wild-eyed]   
That's Tinuviel-- 

[before anyone can do anything beyond react in concern, Luthien herself   
appears, out of thin air, in a tearful rush, shoving anyone in her path   
aside and flinging her arms around Beren's neck] 

**Luthien**: [incoherent]   
--Beren -- Beren -- you're still here -- 

[she steps back, looking at him as if she can't believe it, while Huan crowds   
in as though he hadn't seen her for decades and recognizes that she needs   
a dog welded to her side, even if she doesn't] 

Oh, Beren, dear one, it's no use, there's -- you mustn't trust anyone   
here, you can't trust my family, it doesn't matter what side of the   
Sea they're on-- 

**Finrod**:   
Not even us? 

**Luthien**: [impatient]   
Oh, don't be stupid -- of course you. 

[to Beren] 

Don't -- don't listen to anyone -- else, or let anyone talk you into   
anything, don't agree to anything, no matter how innocent it sounds,   
or reasonable, don't -- Oh! 

[she shakes her head in outrage, unable to keep going -- he catches hold   
of her forearm, trying to get her to calm down] 

**Beren**: [intense]   
--Tinuviel. --What -- did -- they -- say? 

**Luthien**: [with a convulsive shiver]   
He said -- he said you could be -- be put in some sort of suspended   
animation, unconscious, as though you were someone who'd returned   
from Exile illegally and that way we'd still be married but I wouldn't   
have to worry about you and you wouldn't technically be in Aman,   
you'd be on some islands somewhere, and so it would all be lawful. 

[he lets go of her wrist and draws himself up, shocked] 

**Beren**:   
W--what?!? 

**Luthien**: [nodding]   
That's what I said. I -- I -- yes. 

**Beren**: [flatly]   
Unconscious. For how long? 

**Luthien**:   
Always! I told them, it was bad enough, you were unconscious for   
a whole season, why would they think I would be happy with you   
like that forever? 

[he is staring at her in disbelief, rapidly replaced by conviction to   
match hers that this is not a misunderstanding, while Nerdanel looks at   
Finarfin and her nephews incredulously and Amarie, frowning, shakes her   
head in disagreement.] 

**Finrod**: [disgusted]   
Honestly. I should have insisted on being present to help keep things   
in perspective. This is ridiculous -- and I'm going to tell Lord Namo   
so myself as soon-- 

[Beren whirls to face them] 

**Beren**: [almost incoherent in his own distress]   
No -- you don't understand. None of you! You -- I -- you can't! 

**Finrod**:   
Beren-- 

**Beren**: [shaking his head]   
There's nothing -- look, my whole life I spend fighting against the Dark,   
and I lose everything, and when I ask the gods for even a little help,   
the only choice I get is between exiled to Death now or exiled to the   
Grey Country forever? What -- kind of choice is that? Why can we not get   
even the least break? We've been patient, we've trusted the Powers to   
do right by us, we're not the bad guys, but-- 

**Finrod**: [trying to reassure him as before]   
Beren, it isn't-- 

**Beren**: [ranting]   
Don't! Don't lie to me now -- there isn't any hope, Tinuviel's right,   
nobody cares, no one can help us and you do not understand because   
you're here and you don't have anything to lose, there isn't any place   
else for you to go and even if Amarie won't listen to you now there's   
still hope for you, you do have forever, and no matter what -- even   
if you're right -- and Ages down the road we do get to find each other   
again, that isn't going to make the forever in between any less of a   
Hell for us!! 

[as Finrod reaches out, upset, he flings him away and storms a short ways   
off, stopping abruptly to stand, his back to them, fist clenched at his   
side, shaking. No one quite dares to approach him -- except for Huan, who   
realizes that it's Beren who needs a canine shadow and additionally to   
have his ear snuffled and a dog nose shoved under his chin. The upshot of   
this is to cause the mortal to turn and hug the Hound, leaning against   
Huan's chest for a moment before wearily but resignedly rejoining the   
assembled Elven company, ghostly and otherwise (still with a divine Hound   
practically welded to his side.) After kissing Luthien quickly and she   
brushing the hair out of his eyes with an anxious caress, he faces the   
Nargothronders again.] 

**Beren**: [raggedly]   
Sorry. I -- didn't mean to be ungrateful. I just -- lost it and said   
stuff that felt true but -- I know you can't help it, and you would   
if -- I don't mean any of that. 

**Teler Maid**: [sympathetic]   
I do that sometimes. 

[thoughtful] 

At least I did before. It -- it is harder, now, not simply here. Perhaps   
I am growing up. 

[hastily] 

I did not mean to call you but a child, my lord. 

[to Luthien] 

--Or you, for such a Doom would put any out of temper, I think.   
Would you not agree? 

[this last, innocently put to the newcomers, evokes expressions ranging from   
pensive to taut to intensely so; Beren, with Huan still "at heel," approaches   
Finrod & stands before him looking up at him unflinchingly -- despite the   
circle of witnesses, it is an extremely personal moment] 

**Beren**:   
I cut you awful bad, didn't I? 

[sighing] 

I'm sorry. 

[the other shakes his head, smiling sadly] 

**Finrod**:   
I've dealt with angry Men before. That -- wasn't the worst that any   
of your family has said to me. 

**Beren**:   
An' . . .? 

[the Elf-lord nods, and he sighs again] 

--Not so much angry -- as terrified. I haven't been afraid -- not really,   
not since they said that Carcharoth was dead -- not even here, even   
before he came-- 

[scratching under the Hound's jaw] 

--but now? I'm scared out of my wits. I don't know what's coming,   
what to do, and it just keeps looking worse. And that's not going   
away. Actually-- 

[grimacing] 

--yes, angry, and that isn't going away either, but -- now I'm riding it   
and not the other way 'round. 

[he looks around at the Ten earnestly] 

Only there's nothing for me to fight or destroy here, and that's sort   
of all I know how to do. --And wait. I'm good at waiting a situation   
out . . . but . . . 

**Steward**: [shaking his head]   
Oh, little one. --Trust the people who love you. 

**Captain**:   
--Trust our King. 

[Huan's tail signals agreement, and Beren nods ruefully, losing more of the   
frenzied edge] 

**Beren**:   
I guess I shouldn't understimate you all, either, huh? 

**Teler Maid**: [a little too loud]   
But of course not! 

[embarrassed, she winces, but Finrod smiles at her, and she perks up again] 

**Finrod**: [sincerely]   
Thank you for that encouraging confidence, Maiwe. 

[to Luthien] 

What, exactly, are they objecting to with regards to your marriage? 

**Luthien**: [flinging up her hands]   
Everything! --Nothing. No one seems to take me seriously! They all   
still treat me like I'm a child -- I feel like I never left home. 

[her father's counselor looks away, downcast; Nerdanel reaches out to   
him before recollecting, and sighs] 

Why doesn't anyone pay attention to what I have to say? 

**Beren**: [reluctantly]   
Well-- 

**Luthien**:   
What?!? 

**Beren**: [ducking his head a little]   
Look, it's not your fault -- but -- earlier, you know -- you were   
coming across a little -- well, like my four-year-old cousin when   
we had to explain to her it was time to let her orphan squirrel go   
back to the woods. 

[as she glares at him, with rather a betrayed expression, the Captain   
gives a sudden loud shout of laughter, instantly suppressed, and   
receives the full brunt of her redirected wrath:] 

**Luthien**:   
What are you laughing for? There's nothing funny about this! 

**Captain**: [with a placating gesture, struggling not to lose control again]   
Sorry -- I -- I'm sorry, Highness, I know, but -- I just couldn't help   
it, when he said -- just -- trying to not think of that picture -- it's   
just too wrong, my lady -- you as an angry toddler, holding on to Beren   
as -- as an orphaned baby squirrel, and scowling at Lady Vaire like that-- 

**Beren**: [completely serious]   
No, my cousin was older than that, and so was the squirrel, that was   
the problem-- 

**Captain**: [shaking his head]   
I know, I know, humans age differently, and -- it -- never mind, it   
was foolish-- 

**Finrod**:   
No, it was quite inappropriate. 

[thoughtfully] 

Now, if either of you had said a young wildcat, instead . . . 

[Luthien matches stares with her cousin, and cannot help it -- a reluctant   
smile forces its way onto her face.] 

**Luthien**:   
All right. It is a funny picture. --But them wanting me to -- to set   
Beren free -- isn't. 

**Finrod**:   
No. So we'll just have to make them see reason, somehow. 

**Amarie**:   
--"Compel" --?! 

**Aegnor**: [grim humor]   
Yes. 

[Amarie closes her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief] 

**Luthien**: [noticing the Princes properly for the first time]   
You! There you are! I'm furious with you two. 

[she strides up to them and starts building up to a fine rage, while her   
cousins realize that their earlier blasé attitude was misplaced and try to   
make their protests heard over her declamation and their father exchanges   
an impressed Look with the Doriathrin lord.] 

--I felt sorry for you when Dad punished you, you know -- but now I'm   
only sorry he ever let you come back! I'm sorry I ever helped feed you,   
or made you clothes, or sang for you, I'm sorry I healed you after that   
mistake with the boar, I'm sorry Mom didn't lock you both out of the   
Labyrinth, I'm sorry you-- 

**Angrod**: [raising his voice]   
--I didn't do anything-- 

[suddenly, the Powers appear, Namo and Vaire before their respective   
thrones, with Aule and his Assistant to one side, Orome and Irmo on the   
other; there is no flash of light nor other dramatic signal to their   
entrance. As the Lord and Lady take their seats, the Valinorean Eldar   
make polite gestures of acknowledgement; the rebels merely stand to   
attention, which is somewhat ambigious; the Doriathrin Ambassador, noting   
watching all reactions, shakes his head knowingly. Rather hesitantly the   
Teler Maid waves to Irmo, then retreats behind the curtain of her hair.   
Huan gives a quiet, experimental bark, but stops at once at the Weaver's   
severe Look. Before any of them speak, Luthien strides up to the dais   
in a no-quarter manner and begins:] 

**Luthien**:   
How could you say such a thing -- or listen to it! -- far less expect   
me to countenance it? 

**Vaire**: [matter-of-factly]   
If you hadn't started shouting at everyone and stormed out of the   
room in a passion, Luthien, you would have realized that it was   
merely a suggestion -- just one among all those already brought   
up -- and not a decision at all: that, in fact, it would have been   
rejected in short order, being merely a shifting of location, and   
not in any way a new way of dealing with the problem. 

**Luthien**: [aside]   
Somebody else say something, because I don't trust myself enough   
to talk right now. 

[before anyone else can, the Sindarin Ranger comes forward from where he   
is lurking at the back of the group of Finrod's people, looking utterly   
Doomed, and drops to his knees in front of Namo's Throne, forcing himself   
himself to look up] 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Holy One -- my Lord Judge -- I beg -- beg leave, to speak-- 

**Namo**: [puzzled]   
Why are you on the floor? 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
? ? ? 

**Namo**:   
Do you see any of your friends kneeling to us? Anyone? 

[he shakes his head quickly] 

So . . . why are you? 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Ought -- oughtn't I -- m--my Lord? 

**Namo**: [shrugging]   
If it makes it easier for you to speak, then yes. It doesn't look like   
it to me. 

[doubtfully the Sindarin warrior gets to his feet and stands straight before   
the Throne, gripping his bow nervously] 

What was it you wanted to say? 

**Youngest Ranger**: [hopelessly resolute despite his stammering]   
My Lord, if -- if I am not -- supposed to be here, then -- and yet   
you -- your Lady -- al--allow me, then -- why can't you make --   
another exception -- for him? 

**Namo**: [curious]   
Who told you you weren't supposed to be here? 

[pause] 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
But -- Sir, I -- I'm n--not one of Your people. I -- that is, to say,   
I did assume-- 

**Namo**:   
Are you not Eldar? 

**Youngest Ranger**: [with a small flare of heat]   
Not -- as some tell it. 

[bowing his head] 

--Er -- yes, m--my Lord. But not -- of these islands. 

**Namo**: [patient]   
These Halls are meant to shelter such as you. It isn't the same as   
for a mortal: there's no intrinsic hardship or difficulty with you   
remaining here. If you're crazy enough to want to be included in   
the Doom of the Noldor, then obviously you do belong-- 

**Vaire**: [reproachful]   
Darling! 

**Namo**: [turning to his wife, confused]   
What? That's word-for-word what you yourself said. 

**Vaire**:   
True, but -- I didn't say it in front of him. 

**Namo**: [baffled]   
That makes a difference? 

[this gets him a Look] 

I don't see why. 

[his wife gives the Youngest Ranger an apologetic, embarrassed glance] 

**Youngest Ranger**: [uncertainly]   
I -- I don't have to leave, then, H--Holy Ones? 

**Vaire**:   
Not before you're ready, dear. 

[speechless, he bows his head and sighs in relief; his commander pats   
him on the shoulder] 

**Captain**: [aside]   
Told you, didn't I? 

[the other nods, too overcome to look up yet, unaware of the looks of   
gratitude and admiration directed towards him by Beren and his companions] 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Only-- 

**Captain**:   
--Don't worry about that either. Trust Himself and look out for   
ambushes -- same as always. 

[at that moment Nienna's student comes in through the doorway in a   
rush, hurrying up to the Thrones with the scroll clutched in one hand   
and something oblong and glittering, like a cuneiform tablet made from   
a prism, in the other, and wearing an extremely worried expression] 

**Nienna's Apprentice**: [looking around at the assembled crowd]   
I -- was on my way up to see you, my Lord, and I . . . heard   
voices raised. Is -- everything all right? 

**Luthien**: [loudly]   
No! 

**Apprentice**: [starting]   
Erm -- sorry. 

[with a skittish, worried look towards her and Beren, he turns back to   
the Doomsman] 

Is there anything I can -- ought -- do about it? 

[Namo shakes his head] 

Oh. Well. Sorry. 

**Namo**: [dubious]   
Don't tell me you've found everything on that list already? 

[the other shakes his head in turn] 

**Apprentice**:   
I wanted to ask you, Sir, what if I find some of it -- do you want me   
to bring it to you right away, I mean, or wait until I've gotten it all   
together and then bring it to you all at once . . . ? 

**Namo**: [sighing, in a don't-expect-much-and-get-less tone]   
When you find something, yes, bring it to me right away. 

**Apprentice**: [pleased]   
I thought you were going to say that. 

[with a bit of a flourish he hands over the crystal tablet, which the Lord   
of the Halls takes, raising an eyebrow, and glances at -- as he does so   
it vanishes with a flash; which part at least seems not unexpected] 

**Namo**: [curious]   
What would you have done if I hadn't? 

**Apprentice**:   
Apologized for disturbing you. --And given it to you anyway. 

**Namo**: [nodding approval]   
Good. 

[as his sister's pupil starts to leave again he gestures with his mug towards   
Aule's Assistant] 

Why don't you take him along with you? Two minds researching it   
ought to be twice as fast. 

[the two lesser Powers look at each other with equal enthusiasm, or   
lack thereof.] 

**Aule's Assistant**:   
But -- my lord Judge, I was contributing to the discussion of-- 

**Namo**: [cutting him off]   
No, actually, you weren't. That's why we're here now. 

**Assistant**: [appealing to the Smith]   
My lord . . . ? 

**Aule**:   
I'm sure you'll be able to make quick work of whatever Namo needs doing. 

**Assistant**: [modestly]   
But of course, Sir. 

[as he accompanies his disguised fellow-Maia, he can be heard complaining   
all the way to the door] 

--You don't really mean to walk down all those stairs, do you? 

**Apprentice**: [grimly]   
Oh no -- run. Remember? "Fast." 

**Assistant**: [disgruntled]   
I'm sure we could put in some sort of camshaft-driven lift, powered   
by water-- 

[the Lady of the Halls leaps to her feet as they vanish out the door] 

**Vaire**: [ominous (and making everyone else, Power or not, jump a bit)]   
--No!!! 

**Aule**:   
Don't worry, Vaire -- the lad's as responsible as he is creative. He   
won't go tearing holes in the place without asking. 

[as if only waiting for all attention to turn to him, as it does now, Finrod   
Felagund steps forward with a pleasant, lethal smile familiar to all who   
were at the last Counsel in Nargothrond . . .] 

**Finrod**:   
Look here, my Lady, my Lords, you're demonstrating quite admirably that   
the art of endless debate has not fallen into neglect during the years   
of our absence abroad -- and trust me, I've become something of a   
connoisseur of counsels -- but I'm afraid that it's slipped your notice   
how counterproductive such ceaseless discourse and infinite recursions   
of every possible outcome and all the niceties of distinction are, when   
at the same time you complain of how much time you're being   
compelled to waste upon this matter. 

[confiding, as between professionals] 

One technique I used for keeping debate to a manageable length was   
setting strict time limits for each subject -- of course, everyone   
found ways around it, but they wouldn't be Noldor if they didn't.   
If you want, I can recommend some people who could help design a device   
for the purpose -- would in fact be delighted to do so. Or -- we could   
just stop ignoring the important things and wasting time on trivial side   
issues and resolve my friends' situation instead. --Unless you really   
have nothing better to do and are merely complaining for the form of   
it. I've known that to happen, too. 

[Namo's expression is very wry, while the Weaver narrows her brows at   
Finrod, who refuses to be daunted; as the Lord of Dreams turns away hastily   
covering a "cough," the Hunter and the Smith share significant Looks:] 

**Orome**:   
Can't you do something about him? 

**Aule**: [sighs, shaking his head]   
Unfortunately not. He hasn't been under my jurisdiction for the better   
part of the Age. 

**Orome**:   
Who is answerable for him, then? 

**Aule**: [snorts]   
Can't you guess? Who's conspicuous by his absence these days? 

[brief pause] 

Though if I didn't have direct information to the contrary, I'd be   
tempted to guess it was your brother-in-law. 

[Orome chuckles harshly at that; Huan wags his tail happily] 

**Beren**: [whispering]   
Who's -- his -- brother-in-law? I can't remember. . . 

**Luthien**: [quietly]   
--Tulkas. 

**Orome**: [cutting over her]   
--Patron of brainless enthusiasts. 

[Beren looks angry on their behalf, but Finrod only smiles.] 

**Finrod**:   
--The patron of loyal friends, my Lord. 

**Namo**: [ignoring the repartee]   
So what's your solution? 

**Finrod**:   
First of all, I think that instead of talking about the Lord of   
Dorthonion, you ought to talk to him; that rather than discussing   
mortals, you ought to learn about them by listening to one. Then,   
perhaps, you'll have a slightly better understanding of what is   
really best for him. 

**Namo**:   
He didn't have anything to say to me, earlier. 

**Finrod**:   
Most of us find it difficult to speak at first, until some healing   
has taken place, or the shock at least has worn off. Surely you don't   
expect the Secondborn to be any different? 

[the Doomsman quirks an eyebrow at his adversary] 

**Namo**:   
I . . . have had some experience dealing with mortals, yes. As I   
stated, he hasn't had anything he wished to tell me, beyond what   
was already said, before now. 

[to Beren] 

Has that changed? Or is he leading you into a situation you'd rather   
not be in but don't know how to refuse? 

**Beren**:   
No. I mean -- yes. I mean -- no, not-- 

[breaks off, looking at the floor] 

It's -- no good. I can't do this. 

**Finrod**:   
Don't you believe in what you'd say? 

**Beren**: [with an impatient shake of his head]   
I can't -- I can't calm down enough to -- say it properly. I'm -- I'm   
-- damn' close to not being able to remember anything but the Old Speech. 

**Finrod**: [perfectly calm]   
Then say it in Taliska, and I'll figure it out again and translate   
for you. --Though I expect Lord Namo will understand your thoughts no   
matter how you organize them. 

**Namo**: [grimacing]   
Your confidence in me is overwhelming, Finrod. 

[to Beren] 

--Yes, of course. You don't even need to use anything as clumsy   
as language, but most people find it easier to do so. 

[the mortal bites his lip, nods, braces his shoulders, tries again -- and   
shakes his head] 

**Beren**:   
Whatever I say is going to sound dumb by comparison. 

[Finrod starts to say something reassuring, but is cut off:] 

**Steward**:   
Indeed, my lord, your diction is lamentably rustic, rivalled in its   
uncouthness only by the atrociousness of your accent, and with no more   
hope of ever being polished than a cross-grained mass of splintered   
branches -- but in despite of that, the substance of your words is clear,   
and indeed refreshingly so. Or, to restate, -- you are a foreigner, and   
your fashion of expressing yourself barbarous: make of that what you will. 

[everyone except the Nargothrond contingent look shocked at this ruthless   
diagnosis, but the subject of it just raises his eyebrows] 

**Beren**: [emphatically]   
--Okay. 

[to Namo] 

Sorry about that, I wasn't meaning to waste your time. 

**Namo**: [dismissive wave of his hand]   
Oh, that was hardly anything, by comparison. 

**Beren**:   
I bet. Anyway, I just really wanted to say one thing, and that's not   
just to you, Sir, but to all of you. 

[he looks at the Powers, frowning at each one in turn.] 

--I just want to know, when is somebody gonna say, "Thank you" --? 

[deafening silence] 

**Orome**:   
What for? 

**Beren**: [shrugging]   
Maybe for fighting against one of your renegades without any help   
or anything, and doing actually a damn' good job of it, considering,   
that he had more power and more people than any of us did, and not   
just me but all my ancestors too, as far back as we can remember?   
Isn't that worth, oh, maybe at least a "Good job," huh? 

**Namo**:   
Correct me if I have misunderstood the information that's been given   
me, but was not your family tasked to guard the southern border of   
Melkor's territory and prevent his followers from committing crimes   
in that area? Was that not the price of those lands which your people   
were given? 

[after a moment Beren nods, conceding the point] 

And was not the particular mandate of the House of Beor to guard   
your tribe against predation? You were their lords, were you not? 

[resigned, Beren nods again] 

**Finrod**:   
But, Sir-- 

[the Lord of the Halls gives Finrod a Look which daunts even him] 

**Namo**:   
Do you want him to speak for himself, or not? You cannot have it both   
ways. 

[the King bows his head, abashed. To Beren:] 

--Yes? 

**Beren**:   
But I didn't have to. I could have gone off someplace safer. Or I could   
have made peace with the Lord of Fetters, and ruled as his vassal instead. 

**Namo**:   
If it is one's duty to protect the innocent -- a specific duty, beyond   
that common to all Good folk -- and it both given and accepted, then what   
is due to such a one who neglects that duty? Blame, or indifference? 

**Beren**: [quietly]   
Blame. 

**Namo**:   
Do you really think that refraining from blameworthy actions is enough   
to warrant praise? 

[pause] 

**Beren**:   
No, Sir. 

[his jaw tightens and he raises his head a little, defiantly] 

What about the Silmaril? Is getting one of them away from the Dark   
Lord just nothing, then? 'Cause that wasn't ever part of my family's   
job description. 

**Aule**:   
Yes, but you didn't return it to Yavanna, so your actions scarcely   
can be counted as any different from Feanor's, with the exception of   
an additional -- but equally self-centered -- motive for them. 

[Luthien starts to object, but the Lord of the Halls is ahead of her] 

**Namo**: [shaking his head]   
No, you've got to be fair: bringing it back to your wife was not an   
option that was open to him, so he cannot be criticized for not having   
done nor attempted to do so. 

**Orome**:   
No, but he can be criticized for being stupid and greedy enough to try   
to take all three of them -- and losing the one he had in the process. 

**Beren**: [disbelief]   
What? 

[the Hunter glares at him: Beren gives him back an incredulous, mocking grin] 

You're kidding, right? 

[shaking his head] 

You think I shouldn't have tried to break them out of there? Seriously?   
'Cause that's what it means, what you're saying, if you really blame me   
for trying. 

**Orome**: [extreme sarcasm]   
So you think that making it possible for Melkor to get one of his   
Servants -- and not just any minion, mind you -- through Melian's   
blockade after all this time, when nothing else could have, deserves   
congratulations? I don't get it. 

**Captain**: [exasperated]   
Oh, come on, my Lord! By the Devouring Dark, that makes as much sense   
as blaming him for the Gloomweaver's venom -- to wit, none at all. 

[Orome glowers at his former follower, who isn't daunted, while Finarfin   
shakes his head and Finrod gestures for quiet] 

**Vaire**: [not amused in the least]   
--Would you kindly endeavor to control your language while in my   
house? If you must speak of the Void and -- that person -- at least   
do so without honorifics, child! 

[slightly ashamed, he ducks his head at the Weaver's anger; her husband   
retreats behind his teacup hiding his expression -- surely not smiling . . .] 

**Huan**:   
[short, but piercing, bark] 

[the Captain grabs his collar and pulls him down as though he were a noisy   
horse, rubbing his nose] 

**Beren**:   
--Guys, it's okay. 

[to the Hunter] 

That was an accident. There wasn't any way to know that would happen. 

[as the two warriors stand glaring at each other, Finrod looks from the   
mortal to the deity and back, frowning thoughtfully] 

**Orome**:   
Yeah? You couldn't have figured out that hanging around any longer   
than necessary was a bad idea? But no, you had to try to grab all   
of them, you couldn't be content with what any normal human being   
would have considered more than enough either of treasure or of   
glory, and as a result you blasted it all to hell-and-gone. And now   
you want us to thank you as if you'd actually succeeded instead?   
You idiot. --Why couldn't you just be happy with what you had?! 

**Beren**: [slowly]   
Don't you understand? 

[he looks at them all, shaking his head a little, lifting his hand and   
gesturing in place of words] 

Don't you? 

[pause] 

They're alive. 

[still more earnestly] 

They sing. I -- couldn't leave them there. Do you know what that place   
is like? It's -- like being inside a cloud of smoke only instead of smoke,   
it's hatred. They -- they don't want to be there, in the Dark, they're not   
supposed to be locked up, no more than you'd do that to a wild bird. How   
could I not try? If -- if I'd left them prisoner there, not even tried   
to save them, when I could have -- how could I ever have faced my mother   
when my time came? How could I face my people? I had to try to free them. 

[his voice breaks, but he keeps on] 

--And yeah, -- I failed. 

[in the silence that follows he wipes impatiently at his eyes, but does not   
look away, and the Hunter continues to lock stares with him until the Lord   
of the Halls summons his attention] 

**Namo**: [gravely]   
Can you truly say, young Man, that your intentions in attempting the   
other two stones were entirely disinterested? 

[long pause] 

**Irmo**: [undertone]   
That means -- done without concern for personal ends or gain. 

**Beren**:   
I know what "disinterested" means. I'm thinking how to answer. 

[still frowning] 

I can't say it was totally without thought of any glory that I kept going --   
to be the one who finally succeeded where all the kings of the earth   
hadn't been able to pull it off, -- instead of the guy who barely got one   
and lost it instantly afterwards, like actually happened. Any more than   
revenge, the promise I made to Da's spirit over his cairn. I just don't   
know. There wasn't any question of thinking about it at all. If you'd   
ever seen them, you'd understand-- 

**Orome**:   
Ahem. 

**Beren**: [laughing at himself]   
--That's right. Sorry. --Maybe they wouldn't have driven out everything   
else from your mind, since you all already seen -- saw them, before.   
Maybe I should have just cut our losses and run once the first one came   
off. Or maybe I shouldn't have hurried so bad and the knife wouldn't have   
slipped and got broke. Maybe it is all my fault, in spite of what my   
friends think, and not just the fact that Tinuviel got mixed up in-- 

**Luthien**: [adamant]   
Beren, do not start apologizing to me again. I'd rather hear my parents   
scolding, actually. 

[he nods, and resumes without further digression] 

**Beren**:   
Could you have taken one and said, "Well, that's all I need, so what if   
all my friends got killed because of them, so what if these are what all   
the fighting was about, what all my family got killed for, what the whole   
bloody War and the Dark and everything was about, all of that wasted   
lives and destruction, but hey -- I got what I came for, so let some other   
poor slob do the rest of it." I mean, it ain't like Tinuviel risked her   
life or anything to get us this far, or, oh, like knives that can cut   
through godforged iron aren't lying around at every blacksmith's shop, it   
wasn't that hard to get through noman's-land unspotted, like it took some   
kind of miracle to make it work, right--? 

**Amarie**: [to the Captain, wry]   
Thou hadst right -- 'tis not possible to mistake. 

**Beren**:   
But hey, I don't know, maybe you all could-- 

**Irmo**:   
Sarcasm doesn't help-- 

**Orome**: [cutting him off, barely-suppressed fury]   
--You little punk. Do you have any idea-- 

**Beren**: [interrupting]   
--Yeah, I think so -- I've only been doing your job since I was tall   
enough to pick up a stick and not put someone's eye out with it by   
accident, that's what I was born to do, that's what I was trained to   
do, and that's what I did better than any one Man in Dorthonion   
except Da, so don't try to tell me that I don't know what it involves,   
or what failure costs, or how I think adventure's a game but it ain't   
all -- all banners and glory and the rest. 

**Orome**: [through clenched teeth]   
I didn't say that. 

[Namo gives him a Look] 

Yet. 

**Aule**:   
Whatever your intentions, the fact remains that the consequences --   
taken as reason demands we must, as a whole -- were nothing but   
disaster on every hand-- 

[too late he catches himself, as there is a collective flinch all around:   
Beren raises his wrist, smiling as he glances at it in a very vulpine way,   
and looks at the Powers coolly.] 

**Beren**: [solemnly]   
Yeah, I kind of noticed that. 

**Vaire**: [ice]   
Young Man, a little courtesy never hurt anyone. 

**Beren**: [dry]   
I'll take your word for it, Ma'am. 

[before any further escalation, the Judge of the Dead raises his hand for silence] 

**Namo**:   
None here disputes your deeds, nor will challenge the truth of your   
valour, nor the intent of your efforts. 

[Beren looks at him, at first skeptically, then somewhat at a loss as he   
recognizes the factual sincerity of the statement.] 

Besides recognition, what else do you demand from us? 

**Beren**: [quietly]   
Tinuviel. 

**Namo**: [resigned]   
And now we are right back where we started. 

[he rubs his temples wearily; Finrod steps forward again on Beren's right] 

**Finrod**:   
Let them have what was taken from them, at least. 

**Namo**: [flatly]   
You want us to rehouse your friend and your kinswoman and give them   
both a home here in Aman. 

**Finrod**:   
Yes. 

**Namo**:   
And then what? I tried to explain this to your cousin already, but none   
of you listen very well. You of all people should know that, far better   
than she -- how swiftly Time passes on this Shore: what is a year in   
Tirion or on the Shining Plains? You spend twenty on the curve of a   
gate, or the bridge of a song -- and what is a score to the Secondborn?   
Three score years fly by like the days of the Sun to you Outside, and   
you know what they will bring to him, and then what? We cannot keep   
him bound here in an endless cycle of waning and rehousing. Would   
you make Luthien watch him fade while all else thrives, and have that   
passing all the bitterer to her for it, and this same parting once again,   
for him? Wouldn't a clean break be better than that? 

[brief pause] 

**Finrod**:   
At least it would be more than nothing, which is what they've had. 

[Aegnor gives a long, shuddering sigh, but does not speak or leave the   
Hall or otherwise disrupt things.] 

**Namo**:   
But would it be any better? 

[silence] 

Giving him life here in Aman will not change the fact that she has   
immortality, and he does not. 

**Finrod**:   
Then give him mine, for I've no use for it. 

[utter silence -- because Finrod's relatives and friends are too aghast and   
taken aback to say anything to this] 

**Namo**: [sighing]   
What you are is not a thing apart from you yourself. You know this.   
Could you give your name away to some one else -- wait, that's not   
the best example-- 

**Finrod**: [talking over him]   
Actually, mortals do -- usually once they're done with them-- 

**Namo**: [interrupting in turn]   
I said it wasn't a good example. But it's not the same in any case:   
there's no exchange, is there? No loss? 

[silence] 

Your nature is not something you can give away, like . . . like a ring.   
Think about it: how could you cease to be yourselves? And don't say   
"possession," either. You are not the matter of your selves, or else   
we wouldn't be having this conversation, and that's one reason why   
it doesn't work properly, apart from the right and wrong of it. What   
is it that makes you Elf, and not Man? 

**Finrod**:   
Less than than we thought -- not that we are Quendi, for mortals speak   
and hear even as we; nor that they perish, for so indeed do we. 

[facing the Thrones, he misses his relatives' reaction completely] 

**Namo**:   
Truly? You understand then what it is to be born a stranger under the   
Stars, to be forever doomed to departure? You understand, as a human   
would, mortality? 

[silence] 

**Finrod**: [fiercely]   
I understand it better, at least, having been -- Exile. 

**Namo**: [nodding]   
As he understands better than any who is not Eldar, except perhaps   
Melian herself, what it is to be of the earth, to be such as you. You   
can recognize what is the same, in each other, because you are aware   
of the limits of those differences. Is that not it? 

[Finrod is silent. Beren turns to face him directly.] 

**Beren**: [blunt]   
He's right. We simply are different. And it can't be otherwise. 

**Finrod**: [absolute intensity]   
But it doesn't matter. 

**Beren**:   
I know. But even if I was somehow immortal -- forget about how if   
you did give it up I couldn't live with myself knowing you'd given up   
everything for me, or what everybody else would say about it -- I   
couldn't be at home here. No more than I was in Nargothrond. All my   
born days, I was human, if a strange one: can the pattern of my life   
be unwoven and made into something else? I should always be remembering   
Ladros, and a roof that was ancient to me, and voices I'd never hear   
again. And if somehow I was made to forget, so as to be happy here,   
like one newborn, -- what would there be of me? Would I still love her,   
and she that one, who didn't know her real name? It can't work. 

[he looks down, shaking his head, gesturing as he struggles for words] 

The place where I was born is dead now, my family destroyed, even my own   
language is dying or dead, because there is no people left to sing the   
old songs or make the old jokes we couldn't ever translate into yours. 

[Finrod is weeping silently] 

Don't -- don't. 

[putting his hand on Finrod's shoulder] 

You did your best. No Man ever had a better friend. You tried-- 

**Finrod**: [harshly, refusing consolation]   
And--? 

[pause] 

**Namo**:   
Are you ready to go on, then, Beren? 

[he turns back and looks at the Judge in silence; Luthien raises her hand   
in anguished protest] 

**Beren**: [meaningfully]   
For myself -- I would say yes. For myself. 

[Luthien makes a small hurt sound, but Finrod gives Beren a keen,   
comprehending look, and touches her arm reassuringly as he continues] 

But I am not -- just -- my own self: I belong to another. And that   
part of me cannot leave. If it weren't so . . . perhaps this -- nothing   
like this would have happened, but maybe not. You say this world isn't   
my home, but -- it's the only home I've ever known. The taste of it,   
earth and air and water, all wakened under the Sun's bright fire, clear   
and gold as honey from the comb, or crisp and shiny as mica under the   
frozen Stars, and the Moon's light like a pail of milk splashed over   
all -- what else am I, apart from them, still though I'm no more than   
the echo of those days of my life? 

[shaking his head] 

It might have been as hard for me to leave it, as it was for me to   
leave Dorthonion, lingering past all reason, when a sane Man would   
have fled long since -- not waited until winter was on before, or till   
there was no way out but through a little slice of Hell, first. Even   
knowing better all my life, I -- might have fought to stay, among the   
trees and stones and streams that had welcomed me, the memory of a   
lost hunter in the forest, or maybe the forest's memory of a stranger,   
until the world and Neldoreth was no more. 

[he looks at Luthien then, finally, and reaches his hand to her -- she takes   
it, clinging to him protectively] 

But then we met. And I am hers now, and I can't change that, no more   
than I can stop being myself. I left my homeland, for all I was harried   
out, of my own free will -- but it took a demon's jaws to drive me from   
her side, and only the word from her lips to await her here, that I   
left -- or else I should have stayed no matter what, as I lived four   
houseless years in the heather, the ghost of the land's true lord, until   
my land was no more. But my lady is immortal, and I won't forsake her.   
I can't. 

[they stand looking at the Lord and Lady of the Hall without uncertainty   
or defiance, only resoluteness] 

**Finarfin**: [aside]   
A certain fine rude poetry his speech encompasseth -- and a finer lesson,   
that might we well have taken to heart, ere the Night fell. 

[Amarie is looking steadily if somewhat tearfully at Finrod, who turns his   
head and returns the look defensively -- only to lower his head first under   
her gaze.] 

**Vaire**: [most reasonable]   
Then, if you love her, do you not want what's best for her? Do you   
not want her to experience bliss with her real family here? 

**Luthien**: [taut]   
Beren, -- remember what I said. 

[he gives a quick half-smile, and doesn't answer] 

**Vaire**: [extremely exasperated]   
Luthien, hasn't any of this conversation sunk in? I find it hard to   
believe that you're really that dense, given your parentage -- but   
the alternative is that you're being willfully obstinate in refusing to   
admit the truth, and that would mean so much self-delusion that   
I would rather not credit it. 

[as the Lady of the Halls is speaking (and the recipient of her lecture   
returns a mutinous glare) her spouse taps hopefully on the palantir,   
frowning at it as if sheer willpower might make it come to light with   
a summons] 

After all, we're only telling you what your cousin's tragedy has amply   
demonstrated about the impossibility of Elven-human relationships --   
as we have been repeatedly informed ever since his arrival. 

[as Luthien, and others, turn to stare at Aegnor, she goes on rather acridly] 

He -- and his sibling -- have taken up quite a disproportionate amount   
of my husband's time, and his sister's, complaining about it, as if there   
were no one else here whose problems warranted consideration. 

[Aegnor looks thoroughly embarrassed, though still angry and resentful.] 

All we want is for you both to have what is best and most appropriate   
for you. 

[Luthien releases Beren's hand, lifting both of her own in furious appeal] 

**Luthien**:   
It isn't fair. We had no time together. 

[the Lord of the Halls straightens and levels an attentive Look at her,   
belying former apparent distraction] 

**Namo**:   
He is mortal, and receives a brief allocation here, and eternity beyond   
the confines of these Circles. You are Eldar, and receive a full portion   
-- in many more dimensions than mortals as well as in Time -- in Arda,   
and it balances out. Unfortunately-- 

**Beren**: [interrupting]   
Actually, I have a problem with that, too. 

[pause] 

**Namo**:   
Do you also have something to ask? Or did you only want to express   
your dissatisfaction? 

[Luthien is affronted, but Beren takes this in the direct spirit it was asked] 

**Beren**: [pointing to the Youngest Ranger and the Teler Maid in turn]   
What about people like him? Or her? They didn't do anything wrong, they   
never listened to the Dark Lord or told you off or disobeyed you. 

[to the Sea-elf] 

Maiwe, how old are you? When you were alive, not counting ever since,   
I mean. 

[she frowns a little] 

**Teler Maid**:   
But you do not think of the same thing when we speak of Time as I. 

[the First Guard leans over and whispers something to her, and her   
expression clears.] 

Four twelves less -- two. --But nearer one. 

**Beren**: [amazed]   
You're almost forty-seven!? I thought you were maybe fifteen and   
that was why you got treated like a kid. But you're not that much   
younger than Ma -- would be -- you could have grown children   
and grandkids, if you were mortal, by now-- 

[she looks a little dubious, as if he might be making up another   
preposterous story, and looks to the others for confirmation] 

**Orome**: [with a grim smile, very sarcastic]   
Perhaps a little more thought along these lines would show where   
the problems with your marital situation lie, what do you think? 

[Beren gives him a dark Look] 

**Beren**:   
Don't go changing the subject -- I'm gonna get distracted, and that's   
not the point of what I'm trying to say, and you know it. 

**Amarie**: [aside, amazed]   
--Doth ever this Man conduct himself thus, respecting of no Power? 

**Luthien**: [sharp]   
Only when people like my Dad or Sauron try to push him around. 

**Beren**: [frowning still more]   
--Nobody calls Tinuviel young, anyway. 

[she rolls her eyes sardonically while he returns to the topic] 

--They didn't get any more time than mortals, and they didn't get bliss,   
and not even all the Noldor deserved what happened to them, and I'm not   
talking about my friends, they know what I mean whether they agree or   
not, but what about them? 

[pointing at the Princes] 

--because they weren't Kinslayers, and yeah, they broke the rules,   
and they knew it, but does that mean that that whatever horrible things   
happened to them are all right and proper, because that doesn't sound   
like it to me, like the time Uncle Brego had to solve a dispute between   
Gildor-- 

[aside to Finrod and his following] 

--Gildor of Ladros, obviously, not the Gildor you said he was named   
after who went with the Princess and her husband -- and his neighbors   
over a set of good iron chisels that got borrowed without asking --   
actually, without permission, after asking and getting a no when his   
neighbor was away -- and then in retaliation the owner busted down   
and burnt the gate he made with 'em and the herd got loose and one   
of his best milkers got into a swamp and drowned, and my uncle was   
so furious with Gildor because he expected better from his own   
household than dumb stuff like that that he wanted to say it was just   
fair -- but if it would've been anyone else he wouldn't have, see? 

[confused silence] 

**Finarfin**:   
I fear talk of young Inglorion did distract my thought from talk of   
the rivalries of strangers. 

**Amarie**: [giving her brothers-in-law a hard Look]   
For my part, amazement, that after all that's passed he doth speak   
favouringly of twain that hath given unto him no kindness that I   
did discern. 

[Angrod and Aegnor try to appear as oblivious bystanders, not very   
successfully] 

**Namo**:   
I see you understand the tension between determining levels of   
accountability, based on individual competence. --I'm not sure how   
this relates to your situation. 

**Beren**: [shaking his head]   
I'm not just talking about us. I'm talking about everybody. I want   
to know how it's fair to punish all the Noldor for what some of   
them did, and to keep on punishing them, when some of what you're   
blaming them for has gotta be your fault. 

[the only people present who do not express any dismay or surprise   
whatsoever at this bold declaration are the Lord of the Halls and the   
Lord of Dogs -- and Beren's wife.] 

**Steward**: [quiet but urgent to Finrod]   
My lord, -- can you not do something? 

[Finrod sadly shakes his head, yet there is something of pride and   
approval in his expression as he looks on] 

**Namo**: [bemused]   
My fault? 

**Beren**:   
Well, yeah -- you put a Curse on them, that would make it your fault,   
right? I mean, I hate to admit this, but even Curufin and his brother   
aren't completely responsible, are they, if you made it so that the   
Noldor are Doomed to betray each other? And plus you let them do it   
-- leave, I mean -- so if you didn't want them to, why didn't you   
just stop them instead? 

**Namo**: [narrowing his eyes]   
So. You think that because I Foresaw and foretold the inevitable   
consequences of their choice, the results are my responsibility? 

[Beren nods, frowning] 

Really? Then let me ask you this: when your -- niece? cousin? 

[he manifests the glittering tablet for a moment and glances at it before   
putting it "away" and continuing] 

--cousin, kept on climbing up that birch tree beside where you were,   
what, "pegging out a deerhide"--? and you told her not to do that,   
as she was going to fall and break her ankle, and you weren't going   
to stop what you were doing and carry her back to the hall, and that   
was in fact what happened, -- was that your fault? 

**Beren**: [amazed]   
--That was a long time ago. That was -- that was before the Bragollach. 

**Namo**:   
Did you in fact, "put a hex" on her, as she later told her parents,   
or in any other way cause the tree to dislodge her or her to lose her   
grip, or to land so as to break her ankle? 

**Beren**: [snorting]   
No -- birches aren't any good for climbing, mostly, and there was   
rocks all around, and I told her it was going to happen because I   
done -- I did -- the same thing myself at that age. I didn't make   
it happen. 

**Namo**:   
Even the fact that you correctly named the specific injury doesn't   
change that? 

**Beren**: [shrugging]   
Could have been her arm or her collarbone, too. 

**Namo**:   
But you did not cause it, despite your foretelling. 

[he shakes his head] 

But you did not prevent it, either. 

**Beren**: [shaking his head]   
Like I told Bara, she wasn't listening, and she wasn't a baby any more,   
and I couldn't get her down safely by force, and like she kept telling   
me, I wasn't her Da after all--! 

**Namo**:   
There was, in fact, no way for you to stop her from willfully going   
into a dangerous situation, either lawfully or without causing greater   
harm. But your decision to keep working, instead of taking her home   
at once, was in your control, was it not? Why did you do so, if not   
from vindictiveness at her disrespect towards you? 

**Beren**: [patiently]   
Because if I stopped then it would've dried all wrong and been spoiled,   
and I'd already bargained it to somebody, and you don't let any of your   
take go to waste, not if you want to have any luck on the trail ever again.   
--If one of the other little kids was around I would've sent one of them   
up the hill to get help, but the only reason she was out at the skinning   
rack was that she didn't want to play with Rian, so there wasn't anybody   
around that I could send. It wasn't like it made any difference, really:   
I splinted it up tight and made her sit still with her foot up . . . and   
after I was done I carried her back and they said I done a good job and   
made her sit still with her foot up. 

[scowling at the recollection] 

After I got yelled at for letting her get hurt, until Aunt An' stepped   
in and scolded the grownups for blaming another kid when it was their   
job to keep the little ones out of mischief, and not mine really. 

[snorting] 

You know what that brat did, banged her head against mine the whole   
way home, until I finally said I wouldn't ever take her fishing   
again if she didn't stop it, all because she was mad at me. --Kids.   
--And yeah, I get the point of what you're trying to make me see,   
but I don't think it works because if it was really serious, if she'd   
been bleeding, if the bone was sticking out or she hit her head or   
something, I would have had to take her home right away and take the   
loss of the hide and just deal with it. "Told you so" wouldn't cut it. 

**Namo**: [gesturing with his mug]   
No analogy is perfect. 

**Beren**:   
This one's not even close. I mean, you were supposed to protect   
them, right? 

[the Warrior winces visibly, as do others of Beren's companions;   
Nerdanel laughs a little, with a knowing expression on her face:   
deja vu, perhaps.] 

And you didn't, and the Dark Lord took over, and we didn't rebel,   
and the Sindar didn't, and that didn't help us any, on account of how   
the Enemy was out to get us all even before we existed, so it wasn't   
like it was our fault for getting involved with the Noldor, either,   
and what else could we do? It wasn't like we even knew they -- some   
of 'em -- had done hamsoken-- 

[simultaneously]   
**Orome:**   
**Teler Maid**:   
Done what? 

[overlapping]   
**Angrod**:   
Taliska for illegal entry and mayhem.   
**Luthien**:   
--Breaking into a home and committing violence-- 

[the cousins exchange suspicious, rather jealously-territorial Looks] 

**Namo**: [sighing]   
--The Kinslaying. 

**Beren**:   
Right, so what's fair about us being caught in all of that, and nothing   
for all our pains except a "that was what you should have been doing,   
fighting the Enemy, there isn't any other legitimate option"--? 

[he gives Amarie a frown at this last] 

I mean, we don't get help, we don't get gratitude, all we get is chaos   
that we didn't make. 

**Ambassador**: [not quite aside]   
--Hear, hear. 

[The Hunter addresses Beren in the tones of one explaining something to a   
very small child, or while at the cutting edge of patience] 

**Orome**:   
The Teler chose to split up and some of them chose to remain Overseas.   
Others of the Eldar chose not to join us at all. That was their right.   
By exercising that right, they also chose the consequences. We can't   
help that. --Or do you think I should have forced them to come along   
whether they wanted to or not? Not sure how I could have done that,   
given how stubborn and resourceful the Firstborn are -- or wait! I know   
-- I could have destroyed their minds and set permanent states of Command   
on them the way Melkor does. Then none of this would have happened! 

[Vaire rolls her eyes; Huan starts a continuous snarling growl; and Aule gives   
the Hunter a troubled glance] 

**Irmo**: [weary]   
Might we please have some civility around here? 

**Aule**:   
--Can you do that, Tav'? 

**Orome**: [shrugging]   
Beats me. Never tried it. 

**Beren**:   
Oh yeah? I never heard about you coming around looking for us. I heard   
it was the other way around -- that we were looking for you guys, on   
our own, 'cause we heard about you from some of those people you don't   
care about because they chose not to come with you, those Dark-elves,   
that Turned, and we found our own way over the mountains, and-- 

**Orome**:   
Don't blame your friends' snobbery on me, boy-- 

**Beren**:   
--Huh? 

**Orome**:   
Just because they waste their time and energy coming up with class   
distinctions instead of-- 

**Vaire**: [cutting him off, gently chiding]   
Tav', I know they've disappointed you, but really-- 

**Orome**: [growling at Beren]   
--Self-righteous little git, too good to hunt for yourself now-- 

[Huan starts to bark again, and is valiantly shushed by several of the Ten] 

**Vaire**:   
--Tavros! Huan! 

**Beren**: [loudly]   
Hey! I'm trying to ask something! 

[the Steward covers his face with his hands; Aegnor stares at the mortal   
with something of awe.] 

--Lord Mandos, didn't you say it was my turn to talk? 

[raising his eyebrows, Namo gives him a nod over his mug] 

All right, then. Anyway. We heard about you from them first -- and then   
from him-- 

[pointing to Finrod] 

--even if he was a rebel and Doomed, he still told us the truth about   
you. At least, I used to think it was the truth-- 

[raising his voice as he goes on] 

--that the gods were good, that you weren't like Morgoth, who just wanted   
to enslave us and kill everybody he couldn't control -- and not only that   
-- that you were better. That you cared. That you made the world for   
disinterested reasons and you tried to protect it, and us, against the   
Enemy and that you were responsible for all the good stuff and not for   
the bad, and that we owed you gratitude for that, but I'm not sure about   
that any more, and you know what, I'm wondering if maybe Feanor wasn't   
right -- not that about making the Elves all your thralls, but about not   
having a clue and not doing a thing to protect them and maybe leaving   
everyone who wouldn't follow you behind where it wasn't safe was your way   
of dealing with us instead, until we Men are out of the universe and out   
of your way. What aboutthat? 

**Namo**: [aside, resigned]   
I hate being right all the time. 

[simultaneously to Finrod] 

**Aule:**   
**Orome**:   
This is your fault-- 

[Finrod lifts his head proudly, giving them a stern Look, not denying   
responsibility in any way, audible or not] 

**Beren**: [shouting]   
No it isn't his fault, and I'm not scared, you can do whatever you damn'   
well please to me, because if you can't answer me except by clobbering   
me that just goes to show that I'm right and you're not really any better   
than Morgoth-- 

[he scowls defiantly at them, while Vaire stares up at the ceiling and Aule   
shakes his head, grimacing; Orome folds his arms angrily and turns half-away;   
the Lord of Dreams only sighs, looking wounded] 

--and I'm not saying this just because you all wanted to fling me back   
into that nightmare world or out into who-knows-what, for all I know   
that's just as much the end permanently for us as you all think the end   
of the world will be for the Eldar -- mostly-- 

[with a quick, apologetic glance at Finrod, he goes on, increasingly indignant:] 

But I'm asking because of my people, because I am their lord, and I'm the   
only one left to ask -- my father and mother served you, through them-- 

[pointing to the Finarfinions and their supporters] 

--and so did my Grandda, and my cousins, and their Da, and all my aunts   
and uncles and grandparents all the way back to Beor, and we lived, and   
died, to keep your kinsman under control, in an effort that it turns out   
was Doomed from the start, and my parents got split up trying to do both   
of our tasks at the same time, and poor Eilinel disappeared and got used   
to destroy her true-love even after she was dead, and Gorlim was tortured   
into betraying Da, and you can't tell me that either one of them deserved   
that because it isn't true and you can't tell me that eternity makes it   
okay because that's a piece of tin covered with foil and bits of glass,   
that's something shiny that looks nice so long as you don't look at it   
too close or poke at it too hard, but that doesn't make what happened   
to them all right!! 

[he stops, shaking with emotion, daring any of the Powers to say something] 

**Namo**: [unfazed]   
You said you had a question. What is it? 

[for a moment Beren is too thrown to respond -- then he pulls himself   
together, his eyes blazing, and asks it:] 

**Beren**: [gesturing fiercely]   
Where is the justice in it? --Is there any, or is the whole thing just a   
stupid muddle, and us stupider still for trying to do right by it? I want   
ANSWERS, dammit!! 

[growing angrier by the word] 

What's fair about it? You got an answer? --And if you don't -- WHO DOES? 

[long silence -- and the Lord of the Halls sets down his cup with a bang   
and slowly rises from his Throne, with a terrifying expression of anger,   
so that the effect of a dark thunderhead-like aura that gathers about him,   
dimming the glow of the sconces, is almost unnecessary] 

**Namo**: [stifled growl of fury]   
You dare ask me that? You DARE to ask that -- of me? 

[Beren is speechless -- but returns a defiant nod. The Doomsman stands   
there equally speechless with rage, and then grinds out the words:] 

--Wait here. 

[with that he vanishes, leaving confusion and consternation behind --   
the Weaver gives Beren a most reproachful look] 

**Vaire**: [sadly]   
Child, did you have to do that, really? 

[abashed, the mortal bows his head, but his posture is as stubborn   
as before] 

**Luthien**:   
Oh, Beren-- 

[he turns to her, and she smiles, anxious -- terrified, rather -- but   
without disappointment or condemnation] 

**Beren**:   
Tinuviel-- 

[before he can say anything else the Lord of the Halls has returned, still   
glowering, but without quite the storm of anger surrounding him as before   
as he stands on the dais before his high seat:] 

**Namo**: [without preamble]   
Beren Barahirion, self-called the Empty Handed: you have demanded to   
know the reason for suffering, for injustice, for the workings of Fate-- 

[he raises his hand, pointing to the floor behind them, between the grassy   
hill and the waterfall, and in the same way that the garden gate appeared   
for Finrod earlier, a portal manifests out of the dimness -- but this one   
is both far taller, reaching all the way to the ceiling, and far realler --   
there's nothing ghostly or suggestive of illusion about this massive,   
though narrow, carven stone doorway.] 

If you will it, then go ask your question of my Lord and Lady, and   
learn from them the same truths that were given to me, when I asked   
it, many Ages ago as you would understand it, and again, when this Age   
began. Go through that door, and receive your answers -- if you dare. 

[Beren stares at it, wide-eyed, and then looks back at the Thrones.   
Behind him, the Captain seizes Finrod by the arm] 

**Captain**: [desperately imploring]   
Sir, you've got to stop him 

**Finrod**: [shaking his head]   
I can't. 

[frowning, Beren gives the Powers a critical, measuring look, and lifts   
his chin] 

**Beren**: [cold]   
You say that like it's a trap. What's going to happen, if I do? 

**Namo**:   
I don't know. That's why I'm asking you this -- do you choose it? 

[pause] 

Because once a thing is done, it is too late to undo it. Are you truly   
willing to endure the consequences? It is not yet too late to turn back. 

[Beren looks at him steadily] 

If you find knowledge of things beyond mortal ken to be too great a   
burden for any Man -- remember this, and that you chose to ask, before   
you blame the answerer, and that you did so against all advice and counsel. 

**Beren**: [quietly, without any bravado]   
I understand. 

**Namo**: [with a sigh]   
You will go forward, then. 

**Beren**:   
I will. 

[the Doomsman bows his head in answer, and the portal swings open,   
revealing a black, starlit sky and a staircase of wide, shallow steps   
ascending from the doorway, seemingly of black stone or perhaps glass,   
reflecting starlight on their edges. Beren stands frozen, looking at   
the opening -- and then makes a small movement towards it. Luthien   
catches at him desperately] 

**Luthien**:   
Beren-- 

[she shakes his shoulders, making him turn to her] 

It is a trap. If you go -- out -- you'll never be able to come back-- 

**Beren**:   
It isn't the Void. There are stars there. 

**Luthien**:   
No! Stop -- somebody, stop him -- Huan, don't let him-- 

[Huan comes close and puts his head against Beren's face, like a worried   
horse, but does nothing else] 

**Beren**: [stroking the Hound's muzzle]   
I have to. 

[he looks at Luthien, trying to reassure her] 

I will come home to you. I promise. 

[she doesn't say anything, staring fixedly at him] 

I always have. 

[he puts his hand on her cheek, very gently, and kisses her, before   
turning quickly and striding through the dark gateway without   
looking back. The postern closes, seamlessly, and dissolves into   
nothingness, leaving all the rest standing there in silence.] 

* * *

**SCENE V.i**

**Gower**:   
That boldness dareth, that none other might,   
to venture past known travels, seeking sight   
of sights more proud and dear than word shall say,   
resisting that fell arrest that none may stay,   
neither for vainglory, nor increase of store,   
but only for the cause of faith forsworn   
and wrongful sway o'ermastering captive good,   
whose tyranny, like Time's oblivious hand, would   
crush all makings and their memory as well --   
'gainst which should death seem rest from hell   
of life's lost fortunes; were not that selfsame rest   
a parting wretched, from that which holds most blest-- 

[The Hall] 

[as the shades of Eldar and Immortal, and the living Elves, stand in dismayed   
uncertainty, the Lord of the Halls looks grimly at his colleagues] 

**Namo**: [sounding very tired and fed-up]   
Let's take this debate to the proper venue. 

[he vanishes at once, his preemptory departure followed in short order by the   
other four Powers, after somber and disappointed Looks are conferred upon the   
remaining individuals, who give each other worried Looks in turn -- except for   
Luthien, staring straight in front of her at where the apparition of the Door   
had been, and the Youngest Ranger, who drops down to sit on the floor with a   
massive sigh and a shaken expression, as though overwhelmed by reaction. Huan   
takes a moment from shadowing Luthien to give him a comforting huff along the   
back of his neck, since everyone knows that there is nothing more reassuring   
than having a giant carnivore looming over one with half-bared fangs -- at least,   
that's the impression conveyed by the Doriathrin Ambassador's dubious glance.] 

**Luthien**: [distantly]   
And so it begins again. 

[shaking her head] 

It never stops. It's just like before. 

[she moves in a sleepwalking manner towards the steps at the foot of the Thrones   
and sits down on them, looking lost] 

He's gone away and left me again, and here I am waiting, trying to keep from   
flying apart, like smoke on a windy day, and it's dark, and I can't breathe,   
and no one else can feel it but me. --How many times can I go through this,   
before there's nothing left of me--? 

[the other Elves move to encircle her] 

**Finarfin**: [concerned]   
What wilt thou do presently? 

[she wraps her arms about her knees and rests her head against them. Huan flops   
down in front of her and puts his head on her feet.] 

**Luthien**:   
Wait. --If I must wait till the end of the world, I'll wait for him. 

[Aegnor's expression fills with pain; Angrod puts his hand on his brother's back,   
and for once Aegnor does not fling offered sympathy away.] 

**Teler Maid**: [anxious]   
What will happen? Next, I mean to say. 

**Luthien**: [almost in tears]   
How can I tell? Who can say what he's going to do next? If I'd thought he was   
going to take Horse and go by himself to hell, I'd never have gone to sleep.   
I don't think I have, since then. If I -- I'd known he would -- would insist   
on going out to let Carcharoth finish the job, I'd -- I'd -- I don't know,   
what could I have done, except cage him and I couldn't do that -- 

[she starts crying, bitterly, as Finrod sits down next to her and puts his arm   
around her shoulders, letting her lean on him] 

**Finrod**: [sounding as tired and helpless as after the defeat in Nargothrond]   
I'm sorry, Luthien. --I know that doesn't help. 

**Teler Maid**:   
What will happen to him, Lord Ingold? 

**Finrod**: [shaking his head]   
I don't know either. I'm sorry. I can't See anything concerning Beren.   
--I wonder if even Lord Manwe can. 

[pause -- mild sarcasm] 

How strange. None of my relatives are chiding me for blasphemy. Indeed,   
the times are out of joint--! 

**Finarfin**: [pained]   
Son. 

[the Steward kneels down on Finrod's other side, looking him in the eyes] 

**Steward**:   
My lord, please -- alas, there is no other way for it, awkward though it   
shall be, being as we now are -- but I must say this plain in the thought   
of all. Neither your father nor any of your kin did truly know what befell   
us in Beleriand, not even in elemental form -- no more than yonder rival   
lord knew the truth of what his child suffered. Only the merest tracings   
of it, these past months, have reached them in Tirion and beyond; doubtless   
in mercy as much as mayhap in carelessness, there being naught that knowing   
might accomplish, save greater sorrow. And thus it was when first we all   
did speak, this . . . late-passed time, and thus it would have been even yet,   
had not her Highness spoken freely, and disclosed the specifics of our fate. 

[pause] 

**Finrod**: [blank]   
Ah. That would make sense of it, then. 

[wry] 

I was beginning to wonder if the Powers had replaced them all with much nicer   
and more gentle-voiced substitutes, but I've only ever heard of the Dark Lord   
doing anything like that. 

[Finarfin winces; Nerdanel sighs, while Amarie looks like a very elegant statue;   
the Ambassador looks ashamedly at his Princess, who lifts her head at the change   
in conversation.] 

**Luthien**:   
What? What did I do? 

**Finrod**:   
Nothing. No matter. Just my own family squabbles. 

[he shakes his head, grimacing, and pats her reassuringly on the back. Beyond them   
the Captain kneels down beside his younger follower] 

**Captain**:   
Are you all right? 

[the other nods] 

Really? 

**Youngest Ranger**: [shakily conceding the point]   
No, sir. 

**Captain**: [gently, but definitely a command]   
Go off duty for a while. 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Are you sure . . . ? 

[glancing anxiously at the doorway] 

**Captain**:   
The King's here, and between Himself and the rest of us, that should be   
enough to keep me out of trouble, even without you. 

[embarrassed at this recognition, the junior officer starts muttering about   
doing his job] 

There's nothing we can do now for Beren -- except worry. 

**Youngest Ranger**: [deadpan]   
I do that really well, too, sir. 

**Captain**:   
We'll just have to manage without you for a bit. Take your rest -- you've   
earned it. 

[he helps the Sindarin lieutenant to his feet and grips his elbow; the younger   
Elf manages a wan smile] 

Very well done. 

[the other is abashed but straightens unconsciously under the burden of praise,   
and goes over to the level boulders beside the Falls he made, where he stretches   
out on the rocks, watching the light effects on the water. Among the group of   
troubled onlookers, his subordinate turns to the nearer of the two Princes:] 

**Ranger**: [stern correction]   
You did, you know -- your Highness. 

**Angrod**: [completely confused]   
Do what? 

**Ranger**:   
"Anything." You called him a disgusting parasite. And you said a lot of   
other stuff, too. 

[Angrod looks down guiltily] 

**Luthien**: [through her tears]   
Ten years he did your work, trying to keep the Enemy out of the North,   
starving and cold and with all of his friends dead, and he never thought   
of giving up or switching sides or calling in your brother's debt. And   
you cursed him for being defeated. I almost hate you. 

**Huan**:   
[thin whines] 

**Finrod**: [consoling]   
Shhh . . . 

[looking up at his brothers] 

Considered another way -- you got off easy. So did I. It was fast for you,   
and we didn't have to watch it happening, but for him, the Bragollach lasted   
ten bloody years. 

[Finarfin clenches his teeth, but says nothing] 

**Aegnor**: [starts to say something, stops]   
. . . 

[enter Fingolfin, approaching measuredly, if not with outright reluctance, this   
family reunion -- certainly not with enthusiasm. He is accompanied by another   
shade, this last a very ghostly figure, whose appearance shifts frequently between   
two guises, every time the camera includes her. Sometimes the High King's companion   
is a very elegant Elf-lady closely resembling Amarie in her attire, but sometimes   
her flickering manifestation is that of a heavily-swathed, booted and gloved figure   
whose ice-pale hair blends into the blowing fur-fringe of her hood. Something about   
their bearing should indicate that Fingolfin is rather being herded here. The High   
King stands in front of his nephew with an expression of annoyed affection.] 

**Fingolfin**: [wry reproach]   
'Twas ill-done, nephew, to set my son's lady against me. 

**Angrod**: [astounded]   
You sicced Elenwe on him? 

**Aegnor**: [equally]   
How did you convince her to come out of seclusion? 

**Finrod**:   
Not me: I was just the messenger. 

**Aegnor**: [glancing in wary surprise at his cousin-by-marriage]   
But . . . 

[he can't think of anything that wouldn't be more embarrassing to say, and shuts up] 

**Amarie**: [very acerbic to Elenwe]   
Well, my kinswoman -- thou didst make much of thine own will, nor shouldst be   
swayed by any words of wisdom else duty, nor let thy faithful family claim thy   
just loyalty, but must forsake thy heritage and home for rebel waywardness --   
and lo! thus art thou rewarded, that hast neither consort nor kin, nor any house   
whatsoever, for thy folly's meed, that didst reproach me for choosing other. 

**Elenwe**: [serene]   
Nay, 'tis true -- but I stand closer to my beloved than thou to thine, for all   
of that. 

[the living Vanyar woman exchanges a quick, unwilling Look with her dead husband,   
and does not make further retort.] 

**Fingolfin**:   
You've commanded my attention, lad -- what specific task would you have me   
undertake now? 

**Finrod**: [flatly]   
It doesn't matter now. Go back to your table, uncle, and finish your game in   
peace -- I could have used your help earlier, but you weren't willing, and   
now it's moot. 

**Luthien**: [sniffling]   
Don't you give up now too-- 

[she wipes her eyes on a corner of her skirt and tries to pull herself together,   
but occasional sobs keep breaking through; quietly and unobtrusively the Steward   
withdraws from the group and goes quickly to the Falls, where he kneels down   
briefly at the water's edge, exchanging some word with the Youngest Ranger meanwhile.] 

**Finrod**:   
I haven't. But what happens now to Beren is out of our hands. 

[she gives a short, unsettling laugh, shaking her head, and sniffles again.] 

**Ambassador**: [stern and rather suspicious, to the Valinorean Eldar]   
For what should the Doomsman warn against truths, that should harm him more   
than swords or wolves ever did -- what secrets are held in the West from us   
beyond, for I who have known the Lady Melian for all my life, can think of none. 

[The Steward returns, bearing a goblet set with gems and kneels down in front of   
Luthien, saying to Huan as he does so:] 

**Steward**:   
Mind your ears, my lord. 

[to Luthien, as the Hound prudently moves his head a little bit over] 

If it please you, my lady -- that which some have termed, "the echo of Ulmo's   
theme," but even so, more refreshing than merest longing. 

[with a forced smile she accepts the cup and takes careful sips, still hiccoughing   
and blinking; he remains before them on on knee, waiting patiently for her to finish.] 

**Finarfin**:   
In truth, I fear I ken not what might prove harsher to the spirit, than what   
already hath been revealéd -- nor endured. 

**Finrod**: [dark irony]   
You can't? I wish I had so little imagination. --I can come up with several,   
without even trying. 

[to his uncle] 

You really needn't stay behind on our account -- this time either. 

[his father's lips tighten, and the two sons of Finwe exchange an awkward, half-   
wary, half-apologetic look.] 

**Fingolfin**:   
Nay, lad, will you not make introduction between the noble Luthien and we more   
distant kindred, before any preemptory dismissal? 

**Finrod**:   
A little late, isn't it? You could have taken a little time off from staring   
at the Gates and paid a courtesy call on her family, you know. I know it would   
been a terrible waste of your time, but at least you could have provided moral   
support when we had to explain how it was we weren't really Kinslayers. Trying   
to repair the damage from that took decades, and you know the fact that you   
were too busy to give any official statements did absolutely nothing to build   
confidence. I mean, at least Fingon did ap-- 

[his family and friends are increasingly discomfited through this exchange of   
acrimony, regardless of who particularly is coming under fire at any given moment] 

**Angrod**: [pleading]   
--Ingold, that's all old history, it doesn't matter now that we're dead --   
isn't that what you're always saying? 

**Finrod**:   
And you're always saying I'm crazy and too soft for my own good. Shall I take   
a page out of your book then? 

[to Fingolfin] 

--All I asked for was a small gesture of support today, just for you to lend   
your presence and weigh in on the side of the Edain -- I wasn't asking for any   
complex arguments, after all, just the loan of a little bit of that awe and   
respect your Deed commands even from the Powers, to assist me. --What is wrong   
with our family that we have to make an issue over ever single little thing? 

[the High King of the Noldor (in Beleriand) gives the High King of the Noldor   
(in Aman) a pained Look before answering his nephew:] 

**Fingolfin**: [heavy patience]   
You asked me, Finrod, to come before my wiser kinfolk in this ruined state,   
and challenge the gods once more by thus abetting you. Please, let us make   
no mistake of what it was you demanded of me, ere you mock me for making   
much of it. 

**Finrod**: [bland]   
So asking the Weaver to please consider the deeds of the Edain in closer   
detail -- is more difficult than hand-to-hand combat with the Lord of Fetters? 

[Fingolfin looks away with a still-more pained expression, and Finarfin's glance   
towards his elder brother is a little softer and more sympathetic; Nerdanel shakes   
her head a little, not approvingly.] 

**Nerdanel**:   
Kinsmen, can ye not contain such outbreak of strife yet a little at the least?   
What of poor Luthien here, that doth mourn amongst us e'en now? 

**Luthien**: [with a careless wave of the cup in her hand]   
Oh, go ahead and fight, it doesn't bother me one way or the other. 

**Elenwe**: [slight smile, distantly amused]   
'Tis most like to old times, is't not? 

**Amarie**:   
And naught learnt since! 

**Fourth Guard**: [aside]   
I hate politics. 

[he sits down leaning against Huan's flank and begins scratching the Hound's   
ribs as the latter thumps his tail twice in sympathy; several of his friends   
also settle down gloomily on the steps or floor nearby] 

**Elenwe**: [cool disbelief]   
Amarie, wherefore, deemst thou, thy House would fain have had thee set sights   
elsewhere than Indis' flowering, fair indeed though they be? Did not our example   
lesson thee enough, of the perilous vaunting of the House of Fin' --? Or judged   
thee thy lord might by mere will alone step free of all contention, as mine own   
did will it, most like his brother -- nay, more so-- 

[giving Angrod and Aegnor a keen Look] 

--in mood and temper than these younglings of his nearest blood, but still and   
yet they too are Noldor, and the flame of rule doth burn in them no less than   
in these others. 

**Amarie**: [sharply]   
Lesson me not, that art rebel and unhoused. 

**Finarfin**: [with a touch of sternness]   
Daughter, and thou pleasest-- 

**Captain**: [sighing]   
No doubt but we're home again. 

**Amarie**: [extreme frustration]   
Nay, stands there none that dost not but presume to harry me, howsobeit here,   
else under Ezellohar's shade, else to Everwhite's pinnacle?! For what, I   
perforce wonder, did I bide here loyal, that meet with naught but rebuke,   
while law-scoff wayward thankless fools do warrant such tenderest concern? 

**Finrod**: [raising an eyebrow]   
That was what you stayed for, to be praised, then? And here I thought it was   
something nobler than that all along. 

[her expression suggests that it's a good thing her self-control is so strong --   
or else he might swiftly find out what damages, if any, a living Elf's will might   
possibly inflict on a shade. . .] 

**Elenwe**: [to nobody in particular]   
Is any yet that still 'mazeth, that I should mine prefer mine own companioning   
to such kindred as do share these Halls with me perforce? 

**Aegnor**: [grimly]   
All right, brother, you've made your point, everyone here understands what   
you're trying to convey. --Several times over, in fact. 

**Finrod**:   
What? 

**Nerdanel**: [severe]   
Aye, 'tis ill thou dost thus to trifle with thy loved one's hearts and fearing. 

[Finrod looks up at them, bewildered] 

**Finrod**:   
What are you talking about? What point? 

**Angrod**:   
That -- volunteer statement of yours. 

[the Ten brace themselves, or try to look absent as possible without actually leaving] 

**Ranger**: [aside]   
Skirmish coming. 

**Warrior**: [replying in undertone]   
No, that we could deal with. 

**Finrod**:   
I wasn't making any statement. 

**Angrod**:   
You -- you weren't just trying to make them listen? Just raising your voice at   
council, so to speak? You-- 

[he gives a worried glance towards Luthien, who is apparently oblivious to the   
discussion, absorbed in contemplating the decoration on the remembered Noldor   
vessel (which should look like a cross between a Grecian kalyx and the Armagh   
Chalice.)] 

--really meant what you were saying to Lord Namo, you weren't just trying to   
make them pay attention? 

[Finrod gives his nearest relations a long, narrow Look -- there is some reflexive   
flinching in response] 

**Finrod**: [quietly]   
You doubt me, then? 

[pause] 

You don't know me well at all, do you? 

[he is looking at Aegnor now] 

You don't think that I consider the Followers fully as precious as we, or do   
you still think that I fear the unknown? 

**Fingolfin**: [mildly]   
I seem to recall, Finrod, that you particularly admonished me against my rashness   
during our traverse of the Helcaraxe, and advised me to take better heed to my   
following, while you and your sister took charge of that passage. Have you given   
up caution, altogether, then? 

**Finrod**: [shortly]   
I told you lots of things, uncle -- most of which you ignored -- over the past   
four-and-a-half-centuries. There's a difference between rushing in heedlessly   
and without preparation in the certainty that willpower and innate superiority   
shall, together with the justness of one's cause, carry one through despite   
lack of provisions, equipment, or proper information -- and taking a calculated   
risk, even when the odds are against one. But that's a somewhat-sophisticated   
distinction, I grant. 

[the onlookers wince] 

**Fingolfin**: [not getting angry, simply incredulous]   
You would really venture beyond this Circle, trusting to nothing more than   
these glimpses of insight which you think a true Vision, then? 

**Luthien**: [with a hiccoughing laugh, not raising her head]   
Of course he would. Just as of course Beren would refuse. 

**Finrod**: [steelly]   
Didn't I warn you -- Your Majesty -- that I had seen your Doom awaiting you   
if things continued as they presently were, and specifically that I'd seen   
you dead at Morgoth's feet, and didn't you wave me away with the assertion   
that nobody really knew anything certain from the Sight, that the world was   
fully of glimpsed possibilities, and that it was more likely to follow if   
you did take our recommendations than if you didn't attack? You'd think people   
would perhaps give me a little bit of credit these days, wouldn't you? 

[his uncle tolerates the retort with a melancholy expression.] 

**Nerdanel**:   
But surely thou dost not in truth believe that thy mother and father would   
not have thee to house, and gladly! What meanst thou, to say that naught   
awaiteth thee without these walls? 

**Finarfin**:   
Aye, my children, I pledge that ne'er reproach, else blame, else mocking word,   
shall e'er escape my lips to shadow ye, and dare aver that nor thy mother as   
well should ever bespeak ye in anger, once we shall have bespoken her firstly. 

[silence -- Angrod and Aegnor won't look at him, or answer] 

**Finrod**: [frowning with displeasure]   
You're being irrational, you know, Father -- avoiding conflict with me simply   
because you've found out that my fate was a little more unpleasant than you'd   
imagined. It wasn't all that much worse than the Ice, you know. -- Certainly   
a lot shorter. 

**Nerdanel**: [chiding]   
Thou art passing cold, lacking in all sensibility it seemeth. 

**Finrod**: [still looking only at his father]   
No, I'm merely realistic. Sentimentality changes nothing of the facts. What   
difference do the particulars of Doom make to your judgement of the justice   
of it? Or the fact that I am your son -- except to indicate a partiality   
unfitting in a King? 

[Finarfin does not answer -- or look away, (though he is blinking rather hard).   
Fingolfin makes an an abortive gesture of consolation and support towards his   
little brother, breaking off the attempt with a wry headshake at his own   
insubstantial status.] 

**Amarie**: [to her spouse]   
Out on thee! 

[to Finarfin] 

I do comprehend full well wherefore the gods importune us so -- but why dost   
thou so wish the company of yon Shadow-souled mocker, Sire? 

[she turns her back on Finrod et al, folding her arms tightly, standing straight   
as a column. The Sea-Elf and Nerdanel both glance at her, and catch each other's   
attention inadvertently, exchanging understanding Looks. Elenwe shakes her head,   
smiling in a tolerant, knowing way which would seriously annoy her fellow Vanya   
if the latter were aware of it.] 

**Third Guard**: [to his colleague, fervently]   
--I share your views on politics. 

**Finarfin**: [weary plea]   
Amarie, Amarie -- set thy wrath 'gainst me, and thou must fix upon some target   
nigh to hand, if for naught else that I do thus presume to counsel thee by this   
request 

**Angrod**: [to Aegnor, but loudly]   
I can't understand why he's going on like that -- she's only saying the same   
kinds of things he said to us at Araman. 

[their father closes his eyes, starting to say something and stops] 

**Fingolfin**: [sharp]   
Children! You have no understanding of what sorrow and strain it is, to be   
a parent-- 

**Aegnor**: [ice]   
No, and we won't, will we? We have our own troubles, uncle, which your generation   
seems incapable of grasping. It's much bigger now than just you and Father and   
Feanor fighting for Grandfather's affection and looking for affirmation from your   
kids when you couldn't get it from your parents-- 

**Teler Maid**: [aside to the Captain, as it starts escalating]   
Can you not do something? 

**Elenwe**: [wryly, to Finrod]   
Nay, for none save thee, Ingold, in all these halls, had I come-- 

**Captain**: [grim]   
Probably. 

**Fingolfin**: [daunting, to his nephews]   
Then being so much wiser, you should be as much more merciful upon your elders,   
should you not? 

**Teler Maid**: [urgent]   
Well, then--?! 

[overlapping] 

**Captain**: [hollowly]   
I expect I could make it worse. Family fights -- you know how they go-- 

**Angrod**: [with a kind of grim satisfaction, to Aegnor]   
And the emotional blackmail starts, right on schedule. 

[the torc passes between them again.] 

**Captain**: [still aside to the Teler girl]   
I say something, they go for me, then he defends me, and -- Probably   
better not. 

[the Sea-elf doesn't answer, but keeps knotting up her braids worriedly, very   
unhappy at the strife.] 

**Finarfin**: [with a kind of helpless, open appeal to his eldest]   
Finrod, my wiseling, dost thou not ken, in thy heart's inmost flame,   
wherefore I unchilded do grieve most bitterly for my parting words   
against ye all, that are here eke that yet do remain beyond -- but   
bitterest of all for that I spake unto thee? 

[silence] 

**Finrod**: [coolly]   
Was I an utterly self-righteous and merciless little twerp at Araman, or   
was I not? 

[pause] 

**Finarfin**:   
In truth, even as was I, and no less, saving something the elder. 

[Finrod gives his father a doubtful Look, trying to find the hidden edge   
in the words.] 

--Art so proud, mine eldest, that thou shouldst ne'er consent to rest 'neath   
others' roof, else rule, but deem't prison, howsoever freely given? 

**Finrod**: [pedantic]   
Well, Mandos strictly speaking should not be called a prison, since the purpose   
of a prison is not the good of-- 

[the Elf-King only stares at his son, waiting for the answer -- he sighs and bows   
his head a little] 

No. I am not quite so proud. It might -- would be -- hard, indeed, but I'd   
manage it, somehow, if it were not for -- other considerations. But there's   
nothing for me outside these walls anymore. 

[dead silence] 

**Aegnor**: [narrow-eyed, voice dripping with sibling irony]   
--Aren't you confusing yourself with me? 

**Finrod**: [very serious]   
I have nothing of my own to return to. Father's wish to have everyone happily   
home aside, my presence in Aman is both irrelevant and superfluous. 

**Angrod**:   
What are you talking about? 

**Finrod**: [shrugging]   
I have nothing to contribute, no useful skills, and none who needs my help   
Outside. 

**Luthien**: [looking up, tearstained]   
What are you talking about? Finrod, you -- you're -- that's one of the daftest   
things I've ever heard, which is saying a lot. 

[checks -- grumpily] 

--Of all the things to bring away from Nargothrond, Celegorm's slang wasn't   
what I'd have picked -- regardless, it's still as silly as everyone here thinks. 

**Ambassador**.   
Indeed, all Beleriand would contradict you, Majesty. Your skills are undeniable-- 

**Finrod**: [interrupting]   
--And worthless. Here. 

**Ambassador**:   
But your mastery of governance and diplomacy-- 

**Finrod**:   
Debatable. --And hazardous. 

[locking stares with his father -- with deliberate emphasis] 

I do not rule in Valinor. I will never contend for power with my kindred again. 

[the significance this has for all the present members of House Finwe is somewhat   
missing for the Belerianders] 

**Ambassador**:   
--and strategy, and warfare-- 

**Finrod**: [fighting a smile]   
Oh yes. That's going to make me no end popular in the Cities, won't it? 

**Luthien**: [knowingly, to her compatriot]   
Trust me, they're weird about it. They're not like us, not even the Noldor, no   
matter how enthusiastic they are for it -- perhaps all the more for that. It's   
as if they regarded all wine as suspect because someone once drank too much and   
lost control. 

[this bothers the Valinoreans and to a degree the returned Noldor as well, but only   
one responds with other than visible discomfort] 

**Amarie**: [looking over her shoulder]   
Fie, such benighted thoughtlessness that recketh naught of the deep abhorrent   
wrong of bloodshed proveth ye e'en as I have said, O Princess of Shadows! 

[Huan makes an unhappy grumbling noise without moving, to which the Steward sighing   
nods agreement] 

**Luthien**: [cryptic]   
The Night was first . . . and it was ours first. If you've forgotten your   
birthright, I'm not ashamed to claim it still. 

[this time around, for whatever reason, Amarie decides not to continue the insult   
contest further] 

**Finrod**: [observing]   
You're going to get a crick in your neck, Amarie, talking like that. 

**Luthien**: [looking at him earnestly]   
But anyway, you've got all kinds of talents that don't have anything to do   
with running kingdoms or sieges. You can translate any language, you-- 

**Finrod**: [wryly]   
In an essentially monolingual society-- 

[his comrades look resigned -- to them this is not a new lament] 

**Luthien**:   
You're a musician -- an artist -- a scientist-- 

**Finrod**:   
--A dilettante, where the world has had four centuries and more to study   
uninterrupted whatsoever should be desired. Why do you think there are jokes   
about it? I could never steal the time away from my real work enough to master   
any skill, so indulged them all, and never finished one. Here -- in whatever   
art you name, I shall be but an unskilled dabbler, a trifler, with no greatness   
compared to those who remained. There is no need for anything I could bring   
to Aman. 

[pause] 

**Luthien**: [frowning, slowly]   
I think you're wrong. 

[he blinks at her blunt dismissal, rather taken aback by the brevity and   
to-the-point nature. Someone makes a sound of suppressed laughter from the   
ranks behind him, but it's lost in the sound of a canine sneeze.] 

**Nerdanel**: [giving her nephew an unimpressed Look]   
Hast not considered what measure these thy maundering dismal certitudes   
shall impress on thy fellow Dead, to so at one sweep lay waste unto all   
dreams and thoughts of homecoming, with yon depiction of no place where   
place doth 'wait them to be found in heart? 

[she gestures dramatically to the nearest shade, who happens to be Fingolfin's   
daughter-in-law] 

**Elenwe**: [peaceful]   
Nay, I have no concern that doth remain or thus or so, only I do bide the   
coming-hither of my love. 

[the living Eldar shudder a bit at that, if discreetly, and even some of her   
fellow shades find her complacency a bit unnerving.] 

**Fingolfin**:   
What of your friends and followers, then? Have you no concern for their hopes,   
lad, to set such strictures on them as well? 

**Finrod**: [taut -- this has touched a nerve]   
In this I do not command them. Nor do I speak for them. 

[from where he is kneeling in attendance, the Steward half-turns to address the   
sons of Finwe, quick and dead] 

**Steward**: [coolly]   
For myself -- I had rather be serving a houseless Elf than to be King of all   
the living. --And I do speak for us all. 

**Angrod**: [terse, his arms folded]   
One would think that a true friend would rather try to dissuade another from   
such self-destructive behaviour. 

**First Guard**: [aside, unhappy]   
We would have. --Tried. 

**Finrod**: [low, but stern]   
Angrod -- enough. 

[troubled but now more-or-less docile, Angrod subsides. Generally, but looking at   
Amarie's set back] 

--All that emptiness I foresee awaiting me, would yet be balanced -- more than   
balanced, as when an ingot of gold is laid in the pan counter-weighted by an   
ingot of tin, and crashes in its turn -- by one welcome. 

[Amarie turns quickly to face him, white-hot with fury] 

**Amarie**: [with a cutting gesture]   
Let thou not blame me -- nor let any others likewise -- for thy will, that   
thou wilt abide here! 'Tis thy pleasure -- as ever -- that thou dost fulfill! 

**Finrod**: [incredulous]   
My pleasure? Hardly. 

[he looks at his father and uncle before continuing with savage emphasis, equally   
to all of them] 

Those were our people that hour in chaos and ill-led. You didn't need me.   
They did. 

[to Amarie, sweetly] 

And you still don't need me, it's clear -- so what does it matter what I make   
of my death from here on? 

[to them all again] 

I won't subject myself to humiliation simply to ease the consciences of my   
kinfolk -- nor play the smiling fool Outside to ease your minds. As I have   
returned, I am -- and you don't like it much. Well -- that's just too bad,   
I'm afraid. 

[Luthien gives her father's servant a piercing Look; there is a moment of pained   
equilibrium amid all those present of the House of Finwe, the prelude to the   
hurling of more recriminations, or self-recrimination, or both -- which are   
prevented by the actions of one on the periphery of the conflict, stepping in to   
restrain things (or actually, turning where he waits at the feet of the Princess   
and setting one hand on his sovereign's knee in a gesture not simply demanding of   
attentiveness but also evocative of fealty-giving] 

**Steward**: [level and forceful]   
My lord, your words are most ungracious, whatever the justification. 

**Finrod**:   
!?! 

[Finrod looks at him with some affront, but his friend is undaunted, and the   
King's glare softens, some of the defiance and hauteur going out of his shoulders,   
though he does not look away from his chief counselor] 

--Yes. 

[he sighs] 

I should set a better example than I am given. And you-- 

[keenly] 

Things are not well with you at all, are they? 

[the other cannot help but look up at his ex, who is watching him somberly (despite   
absently standing like a heron again)] 

**Steward**: [sadly]   
I fear it is as you say. 

[the Teler girl lets her hair fall forward over her face -- but doesn't vanish] 

**Finrod**: [shaking his head]   
And I am consumed by my own troubles, forgetful of yours -- Edrahil, please take   
thought for yourself, and trust that I'll take heed for my obligations hereunto. 

**Steward**:   
In death no less than was my habit living, I find my peace best in the   
mastery of my duties. 

[his King looks away for a moment, then back with a rueful smile] 

**Finrod**:   
Then let this be the task I give to you: that you stay by me for the present,   
for my spirit's comfort. No errands for now -- let me lean upon you a little   
while longer, at least. 

[meaningfully, though only the Ten understand what he's talking about] 

I promise it will not be as dead weight, this time. 

**Steward**: [with a faint smile]   
Even that, until the Lord of Beor comes. 

[pause] 

**Finrod**: [looking at him with great intensity]   
You trust he will return, then? 

**Steward**:   
I have no doubt of the Beoring's intransigence. 

**Finrod**: [sighing]   
Then I'll share that hope too, whether you name it so or not. Sit here at my   
side for a while, and we'll wait together, if it please you, my friend. 

[he grips the other's wrist in a lingering clasp, before turning to his Sindarin   
kinswoman with an expression of focus and resolve; the Steward settles down on   
the next level, his own expression the politely-distant look of someone trying to   
stay attentive and not get lost in private regrets, leaning back against Finrod's   
knees with an Age-old familiarity devoid of presumption. From time to time his King   
reaches forward to set a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of reassurance -- but   
for which of them? Huan, convinced that someone that close has a duty to scratch   
his nose, starts nudging his arm until the desired attention is gained.] 

**Finrod**: [to Luthien]   
You know, you promised you'd tell me the whole story when we had a moment,   
and it rather seems as though an opportune moment has presented itself. I'd   
like to hear it straight out finally, in order, with all the gaps filled in,   
and not by rumours. 

**Luthien**: [with a watery smile]   
You're just trying to cheer me up and take my mind off worrying for Beren. 

[he smiles back sadly, squeezing her hand] 

**Finrod**:   
That as well. 

**Luthien**: [dry laughter]   
As long as it isn't just that. I've had enough of that to last me for ever! 

[those of the Ten who have not settled down on the steps of the dais do so now   
along with the Sea-elf, with all indications of interest. Finrod's relatives all   
look at each other awkwardly -- Nerdanel breaks the silence] 

**Nerdanel**:   
Nephew, what would ye have us about, while the twain of ye rehearse her tale,   
or wilt thou but say it mattereth not a whit to thee yet again? 

[he looks slightly embarrassed] 

**Finrod**:   
I'm sorry, Aunt 'Danel. I'm not entirely sure what is going on, and it is   
certainly not within my authority nor power to dismiss you, or command the   
staff to send you home. If you want to listen, by all means feel free to stay. 

**Nerdanel**: [raising one eyebrow]   
At least thou hast recalled thy manners to thee; 'tis better than-- 

[looking narrowly at his siblings] 

--some. 

**Finrod**: [abashed]   
I -- yes, it does come to the same thing. But I am at a loss, and it's very   
odd for me to have people going from railing at me to asking me what they   
ought to be doing. 

[his brothers visibly bite back comment] 

**Finarfin**: [bland innocence]   
So many these late-passing years a King, and art not yet used . . .? 

[his eldest just gives him an expressionless Look, which could hide anything from   
cold contempt to anger to an extreme effort not to share in the joke . . .] 

**Finrod**: [matter-of-fact, gesturing around them]   
We could make chairs, but it might not be prudent, and you'd probably get all   
twitchy. So I'm afraid all that I can offer you are these steps and the floor. 

**Nerdanel**: [agreeably]   
'Tis level, and passing clean. 

[she kneels down gracefully on the stone and waits, perfectly at home now, dividing   
her attention watching Luthien and friends and her own kindred, as the latter with   
much more social awkwardness, if not physical, find places not too close to any of   
each other, but still close enough to attend the tale-telling.] 

**Luthien**: [wiping her eyes once more]   
Where do you want me to start? 

[with a tiny laugh] 

At least I won't have to keep defending my sanity to you --! 

[the crowded tableau looks rather like a shallow version of the Spanish Steps, minus   
the sunlight, the baroque scrollwork, and the cheerful atmosphere (though Nerdanel's   
sketch-pad and stylus would fit right in on a Roman plaza), as Luthien starts to   
recount how all this got started for a more-sympathetic cousin this time. . .] 

* * *

**SCENE V.ii**

[Elsewhere: the Shadowy Stair. Beren (looking very ghostly and indefinite here)   
slowly ascends the shallow steps with an earnest, determined look, looking always   
forward, not up or around. The stars reflect in the polished material of the   
staircase perfectly still, not moving as with vibration the way reflections in   
water on even a stone step would tremble, although they flicker as in the night   
sky. There is a richness and intensity to the darkness, so that it does not look   
flat-black, but rather as if it were composed of an infinite number of layers of   
blue.] 

[It is with a dawning surprise that the traveller realizes that he has come to   
the topmost stair, and stands on a flat terrace of indefinite dimension, like   
a still lake in a midsummer midnight. He looks around, slowly, frowning at the   
vertical lines that angle up from the periphery, faint glistening threads with   
rainbow gleams as the camera moves, like the embodiment of abstract geometrical   
concepts. Then he looks up, and his jaw drops as we follow to see the Constellations,   
writ huge and throbbing overhead, the Swordsman with his jewelled scabbard, the   
Butterfly, the Western Eagle, and in the center of them all, -- the Sickle, while   
the oldest stars pulse more faintly all around them, as if it were a desert sky   
with no moon.] 

**Beren**: [gasping, completely without irony]   
--Ah . . . Lady! 

[there is a momentary shift, as if the universe somehow were shaken -- but it   
is not Ea which changes, only the focus of the beholder (camera), so that the   
far-off stars are suddenly revealed to be very near at hand, burning ornaments   
on a vault of blue-black enamel -- or else of transparent crystal, so flawless   
that the Road of Stars shines through without reflection; there is no way for   
the eye to be sure. The incomprehensible edges are facets of the prism-pillars   
which uphold the dome, the flat top of the ascent the floor of the Hall, the   
darkness all around not simply emptiness, but Space, defined and contained in   
ways almost beyond perception, so that one would have to walk carefully touching   
the edges to be sure what was support and what was between. Everywhere that there   
is light there is a faint rainbow effect, so that the sense is of white light   
that holds all colors within it, not white-and-black devoid of color, against   
the midnight-blue of the outer atmosphere.] 

**Beren**:   
I . . . 

[his voice fades into silence as he struggles to make sense of it -- it should be   
both a far simpler, more primitive vision of Infinity than anything in 2001: A Space   
Odyssey, and also more beautiful, and mind-boggling. The Hope Diamond, stared into   
for long silent minutes, is the feeling that the production artists should capture   
-- not glass, but darkness and light made liquid and cast into solid form, clear and   
cold and perfectly blue in the shadows, iridescent in the highlights.] 

[There is a sudden flash of white like a magnesium flare overhead, mirrored in the   
floor -- a comet? meteor? or soundless lightning? -- and he turns to follow its path   
across the dome, and freezes. The bolt of light rushes towards the farther side of   
the plateau, and comes to a stop in mid-air -- caught there, so it seems, until we   
realize that there are two figures there as well, seated on prismatic thrones, like   
an Egyptian statue of the God-King and Living Goddess carved not from basalt or   
alabaster but from living crystal, but in the Art-Nouveau Egyptienne style of Mucha. 

[(Note: Most of the special effects budget should be blown on the Taniquetil   
animation -- it has to be good, so that things are just alien enough to cause a   
momentary lag in comprehension, without leaving the viewer at a loss for what's   
happening.)] 

[The white lightning, still scintillating in place, like burning metal, has come   
to fasten on the King's wrist -- in its angular pyrotechnic glare there should   
still be some discernable abstraction of sentience, of pointed intent, directed   
at its Lord.] 

[as Beren stands there speechless, the living fireball twists and takes off again,   
returning as it came, and he turns involuntarily to follow its flight-path -- it   
passes through the dome-perimeter somehow, whether through an invisible window,   
or otherwise, and as it intersects the star-space it unfolds what are definitely   
widening wing-shapes, still made at this point of white light and glittering sparks   
before vanishing below the horizon-level of the hall. The Mortal shade turns back,   
still mute with awe at witnessing an Eagle in its native environment, to see that   
the Starqueen and her Consort have risen in greeting. (Though CGI, voices and   
original acting should be provided for the sovereign Valar by two of the great   
classic performers of the silver screen, Madeleine Carroll (Princess Flavia, The   
Prisoner of Zenda) and Frederic March (Jean Valjean, Les Miserables).] 

[simultaneous]   
**Varda:**   
**Manwe:**   
Welcome, --brother. 

* * *

**SCENE V.iii**

[the Hall. Luthien is turning the now-empty cup over and around and spinning   
it in her fingers while she talks, distractedly, until the Steward discreetly   
reaches up and takes it back, dismissing it without her even noticing] 

**Luthien**:   
It seems so long ago -- an Age -- that we first touched in the dark . . . 

[Finrod starts slightly at her words as she goes on sadly] 

It's so far away and small now, that time of moonlight and roses, like a   
pearl -- you can only look at it from the outside now, and never get back   
into that radiance again. 

[pulling herself together] 

But wasn't that silly? Saying that he must have had some Dark sorcery to   
use on me -- me! 

[she shakes her head in scorn; her father's advisor bites his lip, but says   
nothing] 

**Finrod**: [reluctantly]   
Well . . . 

**Luthien**:   
Please don't joke. I'm not up to it now. 

**Finrod**: [pensive]   
I'm not. 

[she looks at him in wide-eyed dismay and paranoia] 

**Luthien**:   
No. No. --Don't you turn against him now, too-- 

**Finrod**: [gripping both her hands and giving them a little reassuring shake]   
Shh. I don't think so in the sense that your parents and people meant it.   
It's just that there's -- something -- about him -- it isn't just him, his   
whole family is the same -- was-- 

[but goes on almost immediately] 

--but there's some sort of invisible aura about the Beorings which makes   
it hard not to do what they want, no matter how impossible-seeming it is. 

[Aegnor puts his head down on his knees, as glances are directed his way; Luthien   
continues to look at Finrod flatly and in silence] 

One just gets carried away in spite of all one's better sense, thing which   
cold logic declare insanity start sounding plausible, and -- Luthien, I'm not   
saying I wouldn't have gone with him, or that you wouldn't, I'm just trying   
to understand it myself because it's hard to think clearly when someone that   
certain of things is defining the parameters of the debate. 

[pause] 

You noticed he was doing it with the Powers as well. Not just arguing   
with them, but carrying it on his own terms. 

[his father and Amarie shake their heads in residual dismay; Luthien does not   
say anything still.] 

**Aegnor**:   
--Yes, I'm surprised you weren't as upset about that as you were about   
Bereg doing the same thing. 

**Finrod**: [very definitely]   
Bereg didn't do that. He never said anything to me, or to any of us, about   
his doubts or whom he'd been speaking with of them. He just pretended   
everything was perfectly fine, said what he thought I wanted to hear, and   
kept all his discontents for private. I don't know if I could have reassured   
him -- if anyone could have -- or if things would have turned out the same   
regardless. --But there most certainly was no hope of any other outcome with   
him not being willing to question me. The only resemblance between them is   
that ability to convince others to go along in whatever he came up with, even   
when it meant going all the way back over the mountains they'd just come over   
this way, into whatever it was they'd thought worse than mountains to begin   
with -- or at least which Balan had thought worse than mountains and convinced   
them all the same. 

**Angrod**:   
And Marach -- don't forget, a good number of his people went with Bereg   
as well. 

**Finrod**:   
But more of them didn't. Malach Aradan ruled by popular acclaim -- but he   
was responsible for getting the tribe's consent in the first place and keeping   
it. It wasn't ever a settled thing, for him or for the rest of the family-- 

[with an earnest look from his brothers to his uncle] 

--and think how much worse the Battle would have gone, and afterwards, if   
Bregor and Hador hadn't instilled their convictions not just in their own   
children but the rest of their folk as well. Not that it's much consolation,   
but it could have been an utter rout instead of a partial rout ending in   
a standoff. 

[to his cousin, who is still regarding him in rather a chilly manner:] 

I'm not saying it's a bad thing, Luthien -- only that this mortal obduracy   
is a formidable force to be reckoned with, whether it's on our side or not.   
Beren isn't any more stubborn than the others of his Houses, on both sides. 

**Fingolfin**:   
Or -- what was her name, that young mortal woman who caused so much fuss not   
too long ago? 

[the other Belerianders stare at him] 

[simultaneously (overlapping)]   
**Everyone from Middle-earth, native or returned**:   
--Haleth!! 

[there is an embarrassed moment as everyone sort of recollects themselves] 

**Fingolfin**: [defensive]   
You must grant, I never met the lady. 

**Aegnor**: [sarcastic aside]   
There's a surprise-- 

**Angrod**:   
Neither did I -- but we still heard about her enough to remember her name,   
uncle! It wasn't as though there weren't relatives of hers straggling through   
the realm for the better part of a decade. 

**Aegnor**: [faint amusement]   
It was almost like the first years here, where you never knew when you were   
going to walk into a settlement of strangers giving you funny looks and   
speaking a language nearly but not quite comprehensible. It was rather hard   
not to cross Nargothrond and hear the name "Haleth" in the process-- 

**Angrod**: [interrupting]   
--But he didn't, don't you recall? 

[the Princes shake their heads in too-obvious pity, to their uncle's chagrin] 

**Luthien**:   
Yes, annexing part of the kingdom and then telling Mablung off for trespassing-- 

[to the Valinorean Eldar, living and otherwise] 

--well, you don't know our Captains, so that doesn't mean much to you, but   
people listen to them, most of the time -- when he came to try to evict them,   
does sort of stick in people's memory. 

**Finrod**:   
Not to mention dragging half-a-thousand unwilling kinsmen through a vale full   
of giant spiders and other assorted monstrosities, and her with no natural   
abilities whatsoever to help her defend them, and most of them increasingly   
convinced she was insane for not staying in a land already cultivated and   
partially settled, because there was "too much open" to the northward. Or   
commanding a successful defense against the Enemy's minions, when everyone   
else was on the verge of giving up and dying before rescue arrived -- which   
was partly the reason they didn't kick her out as chief after the business   
with the Old Road and the mutant beasts. "The spiders were a mistake," she   
told me, "I thought they were bogles out of tales to frighten bad children--   
or Men who might think of going too close to the Shadowking's woods otherwise." 

[shaking his head] 

The way they talked about her, you couldn't tell if they thought she was   
brilliant, mad, or both -- and that they weren't sure either. But not being   
around her wasn't an option, any more than for moths about a lit candle. 

**Amarie**: [caustic]   
Aye, my lord, and wherefore didst thou not espouse her, for all thy fellowship   
of the Secondborn? I am astonish't. 

[pause] 

**Finrod**: [giving her a very askance Look]   
I'm already married to you. 

**Amarie**: [wide-eyed]   
But -- thou didst declare't null, and didst e'en chide me for that I ne'er did   
take another consort, or hast forgot so swift thine own words so late-uttered? 

**Finrod**: [getting a little bit flustered]   
I -- meant for you, that you shouldn't have considered yourself bound when we   
never completed the ceremony-- 

**Amarie**: [tossing her head]   
Now there's a fine thing, fine sir! Wouldst have me as thy grandsire, then,   
seeking one lord here whilst another bideth there, West or east it mattereth   
not -- for how might it be, that one should be bound, the other not? 'Tis not   
of reason, that thou shouldst hold it feasible to bide yet spouse to me, yet   
I not in equal measure thine to thee! 

**Finrod**: [changing the subject without any finesse, lightly]   
It would never have worked, in any case -- she wouldn't have had me regardless,   
even if she hadn't said that five hundred-odd children were enough for any Man. 

**Nerdanel**: [chiding]   
'Tis far from the fitting hour for japery, youngling. 

**Finrod**:   
Oh, I'm not. 

[pause -- the Valinorean relatives look at him strangely] 

She and her people expressed rather a dim view of us, I'm afraid. Something   
about the lunacy of those who thought of fighting as fun and spent so much   
time over weapons. 

**Fingolfin**: [acerbic]   
--Which, you must concede, is most curious when 'tis considered how their   
lives and livelihoods were thereafter safeguarded in their new homeland by   
those very weapons and warriors of ours. 

**Luthien**: [aside]   
And here I thought it was us. Won't Beleg be surprised-- 

[the Ambassador also starts to say something, but Finrod makes a pre-emptive   
quieting gesture] 

**Finrod**: [to Fingolfin]   
Well . . . in a very general way. For a while. And after you died they did   
a better job of defending the Crossings than what was left of your people   
-- or mine. 

[blandly] 

One thing which troubled them a lot, though, was the little bits and pieces   
they'd heard over the years about Elves fighting Elves and siblings pulling   
blades on each other. 

[Fingolfin rests his forehead on his hand; his living relatives look rather   
told-you-so at this] 

--But mostly the idea of just going looking for trouble in the first place,   
instead of away from it. 

**Captain**: [rueful]   
"I'm betting that's not much use for firewood, and it's mighty unhandy for   
a dinner knife" -- her opinion of swords. 

**Teler Maid**: [curious]   
Did she really say it like that? 

**Captain**: [shaking his head]   
No. I can't manage a Brethil accent properly at all. 

**Finrod**: [very dry]   
She also had definite things to say on the matter of living in caves, and   
people who were mad enough to do so. "Underground's for when you're dead,   
and I'm not yet." 

[his relatives think about this, and the several implications of it, with the   
expressions of people who know they ought not to be amused at the amusing aspect   
because of the grim] 

**Warrior**: [aside]   
On the brighter side -- Nargothrond not overrun with swine and kine. 

**Teler Maid**: [aside, with a dubious Look]   
Ought I wish to know what these your words meant? 

**Warrior**: [rueful]   
--Long story. 

**Luthien**: [curiously to Finrod]   
Just how much did you leave out of that message to my father? 

[pause] 

**Finrod**:   
I very much prefer it when your father isn't angry with me. While I can in   
no way foresee any of this getting back to him, I'd rather not take that   
slight, unforeseeable chance. 

**Luthien**: [faint smile]   
Hmph. That bad. 

**Finrod**:   
It was mostly a matter of style -- and the last time I saw her, following   
the resettlement project -- which Elu discreetly ignored without overt   
comment, at least to me-- 

**Luthien**: [raising her eyebrows]   
You didn't notice him asking you how much faster than we, did mortals grow up? 

**Finrod**:   
I said "overt," remember? That was just him letting all know that no one   
was pulling a fast one on him, even if he wasn't going to haggle over every   
returning formerly-disaffected tribesman -- anyway, she conceded that he was   
a pretty good king, all told, as kings went, minding his own business and   
leaving peaceable folk in peace-- 

[the Doriathrin lord covers a smile at his words] 

--and they really couldn't ask for better neighbors after all. 

[biting his lip] 

I just, ah, polished off a few edges: a herald is worthless who can't be   
trusted to deliver a message as given. 

**Steward**: [dry]   
One of several side benefits of serving as your voice, my lord, and not-- 

[he catches himself, with a quick glance at Nerdanel] 

--anyone else's. 

**Finrod**:   
Oh, there were some pretty sharp comments I sent upriver from time to time,   
I seem to recall. 

**Fingolfin**: [wincing]   
Aye, as do I. 

**Steward**:   
But not of themselves scathing, saving as the truth hurts. 

**Finrod**: [grim smile]   
--Like that damnéd dam project I heard about fortuitously, before Fingon   
actually got started on his brilliant notion to turn my river into a moat   
around Barad Eithel. Downstream rights, what? The only worse thing you lot   
could have come up with was damming up at Ivrin. 

**Fingolfin**: [patiently, as to a child]   
It wouldn't have left Minas Tirith "high and dry" or even reduced the levels   
of Sirion by more than one part in the twelve-- 

**Finrod**: [cutting him off]   
Well, that was your guess. You really don't know what it would have done.   
And it would have severely affected the marshes and silting along the main   
watercourse, regardless. I'm not going to get into this now, it's pointless,   
but I was right. 

**Fingolfin**: [aggrieved]   
You didn't have to threaten to have it brought to your sister's attention   
-- with a careful breakdown of exactly how long at the longest it should   
take for your messengers to arrive in Menegroth and she in Eithel. 

[Finrod looks down and sideways at his erstwhile Herald with a quizzical   
expression] 

**Steward**: [looking back innocently]   
Thus I . . . polished your injunction to get up there as fast as I might   
and tell your "idiot relatives that if they dared dream of blundering about   
with the water volume--" 

[Finarfin raises his brows, glancing at his elder brother, but doesn't interrupt;   
the Sea-elf stifles a giggle by main force] 

--unless you -- or preferably engineers from Nogrod -- were supervising the plans, they'd find out that there were people with less patience and more power than even yourself. Since you had me ahorse and off before I knew whether I had my cloak on right-side-to or not, I was not entirely certain of whom in specific you were thinking, and since I dared not invoke Elu Thingol's power without consultation, nor Lady Melian, (nor dared detour so far as to make such query, nor without your permission) -- still less our great Lord without sign thereto, when for all I knew as yet this rumoured doing was even at his bidding-- 

**Finrod**: [snorting]   
Oh, right, as if they'd even thought of asking him about it-- 

[at his uncle's Look] 

Sorry. 

[to his right-hand Elf:] 

--Did I really send you off in that much of a rush? That was an awfully   
long time ago. 

**Steward**: [shrugging]   
I was obliged to purchase my dinners from fishing parties along the banks,   
at the cost of new songs, before I attained the Tower and so reprovisioning   
-- or provisioning, rather, so great was the urgency which you successfully   
conveyed to me, that I did not turn home to pack before setting out. 

**Captain**: [blandly]   
And here you were complaining earlier that I'd done your packing for you--! 

**Steward**: [ignoring him]   
--Where I also, as per your instructions, Majesty, picked up a sufficiently-   
impressive escort force from your brother (and a change of clothes) and 'twas   
there, over breakfast, that Prince Orodreth counseled me to invoke the Lady   
Galadriel when I reached the High King's castle, for such insult as was   
rumoured planned to your great-uncle's dear friend through his tributary   
would surely arouse the indignation of Elu's wife and her own friends, and   
as your loyal -- if independent -- agent abroad, your sister's duty might be   
bespoken without prior consulting. --Though I should surely face some pointed   
ironies, did necessity come to it and oblige me to convey the request to   
Doriath. But neither your brother nor I thought it a likely outcome, and I   
judged the advice sound. 

**Angrod**: [incredulous]   
You just threatened to sic Artanis on him, with no qualms whatsoever? On your   
own recognizance? That's a bit much, didn't you think? 

**Fingolfin**: [wry]   
Indeed. 

**Finrod**: [shaking his head]   
I don't know why everyone is so intimidated by 'Tari -- there are other   
people in our family with far less control over their tempers and less   
discretion! 

**Captain**:   
Well, actually, I think that's part of it, Sire -- that, and the fact that   
unlike some of her siblings, she does little-to-nothing to temper her power   
and try not to intimidate people around her. 

**Angrod**: [piqued aside]   
--I'm sure there was an insult in that -- or three. 

**Luthien**:   
Galadriel doesn't try to intimidate people! 

**Captain**:   
Exactly, my lady. 

**Finrod**:   
Neither do the lords of the Edain, by and large. It's the combination of   
absolute certainty that this is simply how things ought be done, convincing   
everyone else of it -- and managing to carry it off five times out of six so   
they stay convinced. 

[Luthien frowns, troubled, but not having anything to say to this -- someone else   
does, however] 

**Ambassador**:   
Indeed, Majesty, one might deem them nearly equals of the Noldor, in that   
respect. 

[long, long pause] 

**Finrod**:   
. . . 

[the expectant pause continues, while people either look at Finrod or each other   
or the ceiling -- even Huan takes a break from demanding nose-scratching and   
raises his head with pricked ears to look at the youngest of the Kings present] 

**Finrod**:   
My lord, I -- concede your point. 

[pause] 

What? 

[as everyone keeps looking at him] 

There's nothing else to say -- except -- guilty as charged. 

[this encourages another to make a sally at him] 

**Fingolfin**: [very dry]   
Did you not remark, my young nephew, that by his own admission your liegeman   
has averred him to hold your younger sister a greater than you, his liege?   
For your words were "those with more power than yourself" --and Galadriel his   
answer. 

[Finrod leans over again and gives his friend an inquiring Look, full of low-key   
amusement] 

**Steward**: [easily]   
Indeed, 'tis true -- considering "more power" in the most narrow of senses,   
or else to say, who might by virtue of nature and ability and circumstance   
have been the ablest at accomplishing your set task -- even as the warrior   
on watch and wakeful has more power than one inattentive, notwithstanding   
though one be little more than a child and the other of many Great Year's   
practice. Power -- is a present and transient thing, resting with whomsoever   
wills to wield it -- I do not speak of potentiality, which some authorities   
term latent power, but which itself is subject to divisions of kind as in   
degree, even as set forth long ago by Rumil in "Of Modes and-- 

[Fingolfin raises his hands for silence, equal parts plea, command, and capitulation] 

**Captain**: [regretful]   
Too fast to stake a wager. 

**Angrod**: [patronizing]   
Uncle, you should know better by now than to start a duel of words with him.   
That's as useless as challenging Beleg to an archery contest -- oh, that's   
right, you never called on Menegroth, sorry-- 

[the brother and sister-in-law of the High King of Beleriand exchange deploring-   
but-amused glances] 

**Luthien**: [unexpectedly taking Fingolfin's side]   
Oh, give him a break -- at least your uncle was polite when he happened to   
think of us, unlike some of your family I could name but won't out of respect   
for the present company since everyone keeps snapping at me to stop being rude-- 

[she startles and looks down at the Hound, who is being a loyal canine friend and   
showing his emotional support in a traditional way by licking her foot] 

Oh! Huan, stop that, it's disgusting even if you mean it kindly. 

[she scratches his ears] 

**Teler Maid**: [insistent curiosity]   
Who? Who wasn't polite? 

**Nerdanel**: [resigned]   
Mine own offspring. 

**Luthien**:   
Anyway, getting back to my story-- 

[aside] 

--and not conceding anything to anyone about anything-- 

[frowning] 

--in retrospect, the part about that time that was truly strange was what   
didn't happen -- that neither my mother nor Daeron said anything at all for   
so long. --Did she know? It seems as though she must have, though she won't   
answer me about that. Daeron thought she did, he said so. 

[outraged] 

And he acted all perfectly normal to me and everyone, only being preoccupied,   
while it came out in this pall of silence that gradually filled up all around   
Menegroth and made everyone wonder what kind of weird supernatural phenomena   
was going on that summer. Except it was just his internalized gloom and guilt   
and angst smothering everything subconsciously. 

[with an exasperated wave of her hand] 

It's -- all so -- so sneakingly dishonest. Looking back on it all, after   
everything else that's happened -- I'd far rather have to deal with someone   
who simply wants to hurt me for uncomplicated selfish purposes, instead of   
justifying it as being for my own good, or insisting that I have to forgive   
them because they're miserable too, poor things, as if it wasn't their own   
faults. 

[darkly] 

I should have set my own conditions, called down Fate on my side, before   
going back home -- made them do some impossible task before I'd give in --   
maybe then they wouldn't talk so lightly about how much they were suffering-- 

[the Ambassador bows his head in apology] 

**Finrod**: [deadly earnest]   
Don't even joke about such things. 

**Finarfin**: [aside]   
Nay, thus have they learned, most bitter and full, or Time hath sundered   
more than speech betwixt us! 

[there is an awkward moment, with neither Luthien nor the Finarfinions quite   
knowing what to say, far less anyone else.] 

**Elenwe**: [looking at Nerdanel thoughtfully]   
--Thus the course of nature, that love should e'er will self's cessation,   
ere that of them belovéd -- but dark rumour, that hath entwined even through   
the 'stices of my dreams, though of's truth I ken nor more nor less than ye,   
hath muttered of a burning shame; whose occasion, for all that 'twas set upon   
that Shore that ne'er I saw, save as a shadow undersetting distant flame, was   
yet kindled on this side -- nor hath regretted it. 

[the moment that follows this observation is even more awkward. Abruptly Huan   
lifts his head, with a few restrained tail thumps] 

**Huan**:   
[quiet almost-bark] 

[Nienna's Apprentice comes in, alone this time again, his shoulders rather slumped   
and no spring in his step as he comes towards the dais.] 

**Finrod**: [sharply]   
I think they're all at the Mahanaxar now. 

**Apprentice**: [glum]   
I know they are. He took all the information over there because it made more   
sense than walking and wasting all that time -- and coincidentally, all the   
credit as well. I guess it isn't really important who gets it, but it still   
stings. 

**Finrod**:   
Then what are you here for? 

[with a grimace and snort of restrained anger] 

Couldn't you have mentioned what you were up to before, so that we weren't   
completely blindsided by it? 

**Apprentice**:   
I -- what--? 

**Finrod**: [flinging up his hands]   
That you were gathering a dossier on Beren, what else? 

**Apprentice**:   
Oh. I-- 

[he looks at the Captain with worry] 

Was that the sort of thing you wanted to know? 

[the Ranger shakes his head in disbelief, while his commander sighs.] 

**Captain**:   
Yes. But-- 

[he looks at Finrod] 

It didn't actually make any difference, one way or another, Sire. Not on the   
outcome of the debate. It just added details. 

[to the disguised Maia] 

Something concrete to be used against our efforts, or against our covert aim,   
that was very much the sort of thing you should have been bringing to our   
attention as a double agent. Unless it was utterly against your conscience   
to do so. But I think you were just naive. 

**Apprentice**:   
Used against . . . ? 

[he looks baffled and upset] 

I thought -- that knowing all the facts about your friend in such detail   
would be a good thing, since everyone would be able to see the things I   
saw in our conversation, not just being a useless, incompetent oaf with   
an insolent mouth. 

[hastily] 

--Not my words. Curumo's. 

**Finrod**: [to the Captain]   
You're right. As usual. --Naive. 

[he sighs] 

So what are you doing here? 

**Apprentice**:   
I wanted to offer my sympathies to her Highness, it -- seemed appropriate,   
since my Master isn't present to to do so herself -- on the loss of your   
husband. 

[he bows his head to Luthien] 

**Luthien**: [dangerously]   
He's staying with me. I know it-- 

[putting her hand to her chest] 

--here. He'll come back. 

**Apprentice**:   
. . . 

**Finrod**: [short]   
All right, you've done that, so why don't you go now? 

[Huan lifts his head and gives the youngest Elf-King a reproachful look] 

**Apprentice**:   
Actually, I was going to stay here and keep an eye on the stone again. There's   
nothing else for me to do now. 

[he sits down cross-legged on the upper tier of the dais, close to the Thrones,   
and rests his chin on his hand, watching the still-quiescent palantir, quite   
oblivious to (or ignoring) Finrod's piqued, over-the-shoulder glare] 

**Captain**:   
Aren't you supposed to be looking after things generally for Themselves? 

**Apprentice**: [shrugs]   
After that screech -- which must have shaken windows all the way to   
Taniquetil -- and the shouting that followed it, everyone's showing   
remarkably good sense in having apparently decided to lay low for a bit,   
that now is not the time to be complaining to the Lord and Lady about   
someone looking at them sideways seventy-two years ago-- 

[from the hallway outside an angry voice can be heard raised and coming nearer   
quickly] 

**Aredhel**:   
Isn't there anyone here with authority? I demand to speak to Lord   
Namo -- at once! 

[Fingolfin winces. The rest of the company exchange looks alternately   
bewildered, amused, or resigned] 

**Apprentice**: [glumly]   
Of course, there are always exceptions. 

[the High King's daughter comes striding into the chamber and over to the   
dais, anger crackling all around her like wet wood on fire -- Huan lifts up   
his head, pricking up his ears, and wags his tail, but she ignores him along   
with everyone except the High King her father. Amarie makes an exclamation   
of disgust, looking as though this is pretty nearly the final straw, and   
very obviously refuses to grant Aredhel her attention.] 

**Aredhel**:   
Where are they? Why can't I find anyone? This is ridiculous! 

**Fingolfin**: [pleading in the weary tone of one who knows it's useless]   
'Feiniel-- 

**Aredhel**:   
I refuse to put up with this any longer! I want an injunction against him!   
You do something about it, Father-- 

**Warrior**: [aside to the Fourth Guard]   
He must have gotten her again. 

[his friend nods] 

**Fingolfin**: [patiently]   
Daughter, I haven't authority over your husband -- I hadn't in life, and not   
in here either. Besides, you know-- 

[in the background Eol enters, the embodiment of cynicism in black armour, and   
comes up quietly to stand a little ways behind her, relishing the negative Looks   
from those who notice his presence.] 

**Aredhel**: [cutting him off]   
No, you just don't care about anything except your blasted board-games! 

**Nerdanel**:   
Niece, thou dost most discourteously disrupt thy kinswoman's tale-- 

**Aredhel**: [impatient]   
I'm not talking to you. 

[back to her father again] 

--You're so insensitive and selfish! It's all your fault anyway: if you hadn't   
insisted on dragging us with you on your revenge quest, none of this would   
have happened, and I'd still be alive! 

**Angrod**: [dry]   
Really? You mean you'd have gone back with him if he'd joined my father at   
Araman? Because I seem to remember you saying we three were idiots for not   
taking Cel up on the offer of a ride -- not that we should have turned back   
from the Crossing. 

[she lifts her head defiantly and ignores him, going right on] 

**Aredhel**:   
I'm going to insist that Lord Namo give me an injunction against him, and   
that he enforce it this time-- 

**Eol**:   
Against you, you mean? You'll just break it again. 

[she spins around and glares at him, while he just stands there with folded arms,   
head cocked to one side, sneering.] 

**Aredhel**: [giving him a dark, undershot Look]   
You-- 

[at a loss for insults, she clenches her fists as he chuckles] 

**Luthien**: [to her other cousins]   
Do they do this all the time? 

[answering nods; Finarfin and Nerdanel exchange Looks while Aredhel's father sighs] 

**Soldier**: [undertone]   
--Six. 

**Second Guard**: [same tone]   
--Four. --Which? 

**Eol**:   
You know you can't stay away from me. 

**Soldier**: [still quietly]   
--Him. Love. 

**Aredhel**:   
Don't flatter yourself, Moriquendo. 

[Fingolfin stares up at the ceiling, clearly humiliated but not able to flee in   
front of his brother and sister-in-law, far less his nephews.] 

**Warrior**: [aside to his companions]   
I say hate. 

**Finrod**: [deadpan]   
Isn't family a wonderful thing? 

[Luthien stifles an edged snicker, as their relatives, living and dead, give them   
wary looks] 

**Eol**: [maddeningly patronizing]   
Let's just look at your record, why don't we, dear? What'll this be, number   
two-hundred-eighty-seven? Soon to be a double gross, in fact. 

**Aredhel**: [savage]   
Shut up. 

**Angrod**: [getting annoyed]   
I want to hear the rest of the story. --Not this rot again. 

[the quarreling spouses ignore him] 

**Eol**:   
Why, if you'd only been able to control yourself, we might not be in this   
absurd mess you've gotten us into. 

**Aredhel**:   
I!?! 

**Eol**: [smug]   
Of course. You couldn't resist the thought of seeing me again, and so you   
put yourself in the middle of what didn't concern you. 

**Aredhel**:   
Didn't concern me?! 

**Eol**: [haughty]   
My son's punishment properly being my concern. 

**Aredhel**: [furious]   
He's more my son than he is yours, since you never cared to do your part   
while he was young -- you always had more important work to do--! 

**Eol**: [getting really angry]   
Don't start that again -- you kept parental authority to yourself with such   
jealous control, I hardly got to know him at all. Just another example of   
Noldor aggression, taking not only our land but our very children from us-- 

[the two lunge for each other's throats like predators battling over a contested   
kill --] 

**Huan**:   
[agitated barking] 

[--but though they collide simultaneously the motive is not quite the same;   
Aredhel cuffs her husband so hard across the side of the head that he is   
staggered a little, but he is in the process of grabbing her to him in a   
passionate "Gone With The Wind" style kiss and isn't deterred. This clinch   
goes on for much more than an instant, with the White Lady showing no signs   
of pushing the Dark Elf away, while their audience reacts in a spectrum from   
embarrassed resignation to awed amusement -- the gamblers are rather nonplused] 

**Soldier**:   
Whoa, that's never happened before. I -- don't know how to call that one. 

**First Guard**:   
Me neither. Sir? 

[they look towards the Captain, who only raises hands and eyebrows in bemusement] 

**Eol**:   
!!! 

[he flings her off of him and himself away from her, his expression contorted in self-contempt] 

--What Dark magic makes me unable to resist you, you sorceress? 

**Aredhel**:   
You spiderling -- how dare you--! 

[she draws her sword and starts for him, her eyes blazing with fury; groans and   
expressions of exasperation from the Ten and their hereditary lords. Luthien   
stands up and scowls at her combative relations] 

**Luthien**: [crossly]   
All right, that's enough! 

[there is a slight echo of power to her words, but the two stop and stare at   
her at once.] 

Either go away now, or sit down, be quiet and stop acting like you're   
thirty. 

[in the shocked silence, Elenwe gives a sudden laugh. Aredhel tosses her head   
angrily] 

**Aredhel**:   
You can't tell me what to do. You're not Queen here. 

**Luthien**: [narrowing her eyes]   
Funny, I seem to be doing it all the same. --Put that sword up now. And you-- 

[turning her attention to Eol] 

--what is wrong with you, cousin? We always knew there was something seriously   
askew, but nobody dreamed you were a secret Kinslayer and slave-taker! 

**Aredhel**:   
Don't call me "thrall," you hick! 

[Huan growls, while there is a collective wince from their onlooking families] 

**Luthien**: [ignoring her]   
Why are you so -- so messed-up? Did you swear service to the Lord of   
Fetters? What is it that makes you so Dark-hearted? You've got a lot to   
answer for, Eol! 

**Eol**: [looking her directly in the eyes]   
Ah, the little princess fancies herself all grown up, does she? Finally   
realized that the big world out there isn't all sweetness and light? The   
answers aren't as simple as Mum and Dad would like them to be? 

**Luthien**:   
Don't change the subject. You've done appalling things and you don't seem   
to have the slightest idea how horrible they are. 

**Eol**: [his voice and stare mesmerizing, edged with power]   
So little Luthien is still the know-it-all darling of Doriath . . . or is   
she? We've been betrayed, haven't we? Seen a few things we wished we hadn't,   
I fancy. --Learned that the people we trusted to have all the answers haven't   
the slightest clue, can't lead us out of the trap by its threads, and that   
there's no escape -- except being strong, and alone. 

**Luthien**: [wry]   
No actually, that's not the conclusion I came to at all. 

**Eol**: [ironic & patronizing]   
So you still think that everything's good, that "whatever comes is for the   
best," and the roaring chaos of the Sun is just as pleasant as the peaceful   
shade our land once knew -- and the people who brought it with them by their   
misdeeds? 

**Luthien**:   
I'm as much Eldar as you, Eol, and prefer the stars and moon to broad   
daylight. So does my husband, as it happens. But you never liked music.   
In all the years I remember you, you never once made any song. --Was   
there ever any harmony in your house, cousin? 

[Aredhel smiles bitterly] 

I've asked you questions, Eol. Don't try to put me off with your superior   
manner, I'm not impressed. 

[he glares more fiercely at her, and she gives it right back] 

**Eol**: [bewildered aside]   
You're a child, and no mighty "Elf of Aman" Why isn't it working? 

**Finrod**: [mildly]   
Perhaps the fact that she's also half-Ainur has something to do with it?   
Or possibly just being to hell and back. 

[Eol and Luthien continue to match stares -- it is Luthien who is holding her   
elder kinsman now, very definitely, and his expression growing more and more   
strained under her fixed gaze.] 

**Luthien**: [sad]   
I'm sorry. 

[tears are starting down her face again, but there is no uncertainty or weakness   
in her voice] 

You should have asked for help. 

**Eol**: [clipped]   
I neither wanted nor needed your parents' pity. 

**Luthien**: [matter-of-fact]   
I wish I could help you. 

**Eol**:   
I won't take yours either, girl. 

**Luthien**: [same tone]   
I know. 

[she releases him from her stare and looks at Aredhel] 

That isn't how love works. You've got it all twisted up between you, like   
the things that live along the Edges of the Labyrinth. You've got to untangle   
this poisoned chain, or you'll never be able to love, either. 

**Aredhel**: [scoffing]   
As if you know anything about it! 

**Luthien**: [calm]   
Listen and learn, then, if you will. 

[she sits down on the steps again, disregarding them; but although the couple glare   
warily at each other, like strange dogs circling for a fight, they do not go after   
each other again, but stiffly find places on the steps of the dais, far apart.   
Luthien is unconscious of the awed character of the silence that surrounds her on   
all sides as she resumes] 

--Okay, where was I? 

* * *

**SCENE V.iv**

  
[Elsewhere: Taniquetil] 

[Beren is standing squarely in front of the Thrones, looking rather overwhelmed   
and shell-shocked but still with a hopeless, manic resolution to carry through   
to the end. Manwe and Varda are looking at him with a quicksilver-blue glistening of   
awareness in their eyes, making them alive and disconcertingly unstatue-like. At   
times meteoric lights flash past in the surrounding Night, and the Constellations   
of the star-dome pivot very slowly and steadily throughout the scene.] 

**Beren**:   
So, that's pretty much everything. 

[he snorts, looking back over his shoulder towards the Stair] 

Did you make it take so long so that I'd have to cool down before I got here?   
'Cause it only ended up giving me more time to think about what all I wanted   
to say. 

**Manwe**:   
Your last question makes no sense to us, I fear. 

**Beren**: [shrugging]   
I'm just interested in the other ones, really. What about the Doom, first   
of all? 

**Manwe**:   
The Noldor spurned our help, and refused to lend theirs to the World. 

**Beren**: [ironic]   
I thought they came and helped save it. 

**Varda**:   
Have they saved it, then? 

[silence] 

What would have been possible, if they had been patient but a little, and   
lent their abilities to the effort of restoration, instead of leaving the   
wreckage of their anger and mad haste to mingle with the ruin of their   
adversary's deeds? What might have been made, and how much sooner, of Light   
to halt and subdue Melkor's forces, perchance to follow more swiftly than   
marchers afoot, and with wisdom to guide and not to learn in pain and   
obstinacy the lessons of war, and our power to assist in subtle effort,   
theirs to wield, ours to give, in one union of will and friendship and   
both made stronger by bitter trial, now kindled anew? 

[pause] 

**Beren**:   
Well? What? 

**Manwe**: [shaking his head]   
None shall ever know. That hope and chance they robbed from us, and you,   
and from themselves, when the Noldor made Feanor's choice their own, and   
refused generosity even to their own most near. How many elses might the War,   
that you believe so long, have gone? --more swiftly and perhaps to happier   
end -- had all, and not only some, of those who left thought better, and   
returned to lend their strength to the fashioning of these new Lamps, and   
after? 

[behind the Thrones as he speaks there can be seen the orb of the Moon gliding   
by, not as quickly as the meteoric lights, large as when it first rises in the   
sky but not orange, silver-white and looking like a slightly-flawed pearl, with   
a faint rainbow-haloing of ice crystals as it passes under the stars on its   
Westward, downward trajectory out of sight beneath the window-walls of the Hall.] 

**Beren**:   
I get it. You mean you couldn't do anything else. So you're not all powerful,   
huh? 

**Varda**: [with a narrow Look and sounding a very little bit like Vaire]   
You know that perfectly well. 

[when the mortal doesn't reply] 

--Don't you? Didn't the King's son tell your people so, or did I mishear him? 

[her consort reaches over and takes her hand, soothingly, and she stops, shaking   
her head a little] 

**Manwe**:   
There are always options. They are not always preferable. 

**Beren**:   
Maybe you should've let us decide that for ourselves. 

**Manwe**:   
I'm afraid you cannot imagine what happens, when Powers contend within these   
Circles. 

**Beren**:   
I know a lot about war. And the destruction it causes. 

**Manwe**: [sighing]   
As I said, I fear you cannot imagine what I am trying to convey. 

**Varda**: [still slightly edged tone]   
Or perhaps he just doesn't think. 

**Beren**:   
Okay, so I let you off for not fixing things after Morgoth broke loose and   
all, on account of you didn't have the resources to do it or you weren't sure   
you could do it without making things worse, I'll take your word for that.   
So -- what did you go and let him out for? I mean, you might not be all-   
powerful, but at least you're supposed to be wiser than we are. We wouldn't   
have trusted him again. 

**Manwe**:   
You believe yourself wiser than him you name Wisdom, then? 

[Beren just glares at him] 

You would not have forgiven a kinsman who professed repentance, and   
demonstrated it in his deeds as well as words, to whom your heart inclined   
you to welcome, and to hope, and to believe that long reflection on the   
harmful choices and the better ways had done its healing work, so that the   
long-remembered, long-cherished love that had once been between you should   
be renewed at last -- but so Finrod forgave his own, with less earthly warrant   
and witness, and with the memory of past treason to warn, when for us no such   
thought of betrayal, of thought uttered counter to heart's true thought, had   
ever yet been conceived -- or done -- amongst us. We did not know who, or how   
many he had suborned, until the deed of Darkness was complete. 

**Varda**:   
Past sight is always clearest, but the present may not be clearly illumined   
by it. We trusted, and were scorned for it, by Melkor -- and by his aptest   
students of both kindreds. 

[there is a bare tinge of anger in her voice, but enough to make Beren straighten   
up and step back just a little] 

**Beren**:   
But couldn't you -- um -- just know he was lying? Just -- read his mind? 

**Manwe**:   
No. If even yours, saving as you permit it, is inviolate to perception, how   
might not the same be true of my elder, and mightier in his conception than   
even I? Only suspicion, among some, and doubt that such a long-lasting and   
profound will to power and destruction might not be so swiftly turned by   
meditation -- but suspicion is not proof, and may not justly be acted upon.   
Always had Melkor been the most open and unsubtle of Voices, both in the   
Timeless Halls and in the World, in addition to his efforts in the Song.   
We had no reason to guess that it was otherwise. 

[pause] 

**Beren**:   
So why couldn't the One just tell you so that you wouldn't have to guess? 

**Manwe**:   
He does. It is not easy even for me to understand His thought, thus enformed   
as we are within our realm, through the limits placed by the different   
interfaces and frequencies of -- excuse me, to hear through the borders of   
the Circles, those messages of counsel from the Timeless Halls, and then to   
discern what the correct application of them should be. 

**Beren**:   
So why can't you leave and check and come back? 

[the Lord of the Winds leans forward, very earnest] 

**Manwe**:   
Beren. This is the World. It is not a game. Our mistakes are real because   
everything is real, because all of it matters. You want it to be a game, where   
a judge or parent might step in and declare this cast of the dart unfair, that   
ill-stepped leap not to count against the score, allow another tune be chosen   
when the young singer has outreached ability, warn a contestant of impending   
error, always undoing -- in pretense -- what has been done, for the sake of   
mercy even more than justice, so that all shall be pleased with the ending of   
the contest, win or lose. You ask that Arda be no more than a toy, a game, a   
hobby of Immortals, but unfortunately or not, it is real and we are bound to   
it forever, as truly as all else who breathe within its Circles. We cannot   
stop playing for a little while. 

**Beren**: [shaking his head]   
That isn't what I said. 

**Manwe**:   
I am afraid that it is. Be assured, I understand the wish. Often. 

[he sighs heavily, leaning back in his Throne] 

**Beren**:   
Well, couldn't you have figured out on your own about not bringing the Elves   
all the way across the world to here? Then, for one thing, your brother wouldn't   
have been able to tell them that you were trying to replace them with us and   
then they wouldn't have had any reason to rebel, or any place to rebel to,   
right? So there wouldn't ever have been any Kinslaying or anything. 

**Manwe**: [to his wife, in a slightly-wry tone]   
Do you remember being that young and optimistic, love? 

**Varda**:   
Yes. 

[she sighs -- then snaps out of it and says matter-of-factly to Beren] 

So. When the Hunter from beyond the Sea heard the Children's song, he should   
not have gone among them, should not have lead them west to a new homeland? 

**Beren**: [sarcastic]   
That would follow from what I said, wouldn't it? 

**Manwe**:   
He and his kinfolk should not have taught them new lore and art, nor the   
skills that allowed them to thrive in greater health and strength than they   
had previously known? 

**Beren**:   
That's what I said. And you're leaving out all the problems it caused the Elves. 

**Varda**:   
We were not speaking of the Firstborn. 

[silence] 

**Beren**:   
N--no. 

[shaking his head fiercely] 

You're twisting it all around-- 

**Manwe**:   
How so? 

**Beren**:   
It -- for us -- it was different. 

**Varda**:   
How? 

**Beren**:   
It just was. 

[Pause] 

He didn't tell us it was perfectly safe -- we knew there was a War going on,   
and we knew the Enemy was there and out to get us all. 

**Varda**:   
Naturally -- the world had changed, and so that was then the truth in your   
people's day. 

**Beren**:   
But the Enemy sneaked through and committed murder anyway, and wrecked the land. 

**Varda**:   
Yes. We are most favorably impressed. 

**Beren**:   
? ? ? 

**Varda**:   
Despite all that, your people remained faithful, and did not turn from your   
foreign lords in anger and outrage at their newly-revealed weakness, but   
stayed beside them through the bitter dark that has followed, as loyal as   
the Vanyar to us. Not even Melkor's murder of your father served to turn   
your heart against the Eldar. 

[momentarily speechless, Beren makes a cutting gesture before finding his voice] 

**Beren**: [roughly]   
You're twisting things around again. 

**Manwe**:   
If you would be consistent, you must allow it equally error on the part of   
your friend and his folk to interfere with the destiny and quality of life   
of your people, as for us to meddle with the fortunes of his own -- folly,   
if well meant, and ultimately no less ruinous to those 'twas meant to aid. 

**Beren**: [almost shouting]   
Don't say that! He-- 

[breaks off, upset] 

**Varda**:   
Do you not admit that the problem of the Eldar and the problem of the Edain   
are one in nature? 

**Beren**: [grim]   
No. 

[silence. Across the prismatic dome overhead and around, an aurora borealis   
gradually appears, arcs for a while during the following exchanges, and flickers   
away] 

Because I don't want it to be true. 

[pause] 

Look, I know it's dumb and wrong, but I just can't. --Besides, that's not   
where the problems start. Whether you blame it on the Silmarils themselves   
or some of the Elves staying behind or whatever, the real issue is the fact   
that there are monsters and demons and diseases and an evil god running   
around loose to cause all these troubles. If you made the world, why can't   
you just change it so that things like that can't happen? 

**Manwe**: [mildly]   
Because to do so would unmake the World. 

**Beren**:   
I don't see that. 

[unison]   
**Varda**:   
**Manwe**:   
We know. 

[pause] 

**Beren**:   
Look, your explanations aren't, and I don't have answers for your answers   
-- but how about something I do understand damn' well? Let me give you the   
problem on a smaller scale, where maybe we can both agree on it: where is   
the justice in Tinuviel having to suffer and risk her life and lose her   
happiness and lose her life because of me? She wasn't Noldor, she didn't   
choose one way or the other to follow you or not to follow, she didn't rebel   
against you, and all the same she got caught by the Doom, and if it isn't   
that you all are mad at Thingol for marrying her mother, and made him ask   
for a Silmaril to punish him by having her die-- 

**Manwe**: [bemused]   
--What a curious notion-- 

**Beren**:   
--which wouldn't be fair to her, or anybody else in Doriath either, then   
surely you could have changed something to make it so that I didn't run into   
her and none of this every happened. Something. Anything. At least you could   
have protected her from me. 

**Manwe**:   
Any fate you would find a better, than for you to find the daughter of   
Melian, and she to follow you? 

**Beren**:   
Yeah. 

[the blue-black night sky slowly takes on an angry reddish hue, as rising flames   
lick up from along several points on the horizon, and thereby define edges of   
forest margin and steep hillsides in the dark. (Note: the effect of this and the   
animations which succeed it is an IMAX theatre, only not photographic, but an   
Impressionist painting done in stained-glass -- brilliant, jewel-like colors lit   
from within, but no black outlines.)] 

[To one side of the Thrones, where the images run between them and Beren, misshapen   
shadowy figures bearing torches spill out from the darkness into a rough circle;   
dark tents and standards with skulls (real and painted) and images of ravens and   
wolves' heads are revealed by the flickering light. Typical barbarian-warlord/   
evil-sorcerer's encampment. From the nearest tent emerges an ominous tall armoured,   
cloaked figure, (typical barbarian-warlord/evil-sorcerer) who stands expectantly   
in the midst of his minions as the crowd parts to allow a new group to enter] 

**Manwe**:   
In this ending, you do not arrive in Doriath. 

[the newcomers are a squad of enormous wolves, several with riders, one of them   
a pale blue-gray, and not ridden. One of the riders does not do so voluntarily,   
being draped over the Warg's back, bound hand and foot (and arm and knee, for   
good measure) until the nearest Orc pulls him off and drops him face down on   
the ground. Their commander walks over slowly, standing there for a moment before   
booting the prisoner over onto his back. Even without sound, the gloating still   
comes through, followed by some predictably-imprudent defiance, judging from   
the way the guards start hauling their mortal captive upright. The camera swings   
to focus on Beren and the Valar, so that we don't actually see what happens next,   
only the burning hillsides on the other walls, while Beren keeps watching   
apparently completely unfazed by it] 

**Beren**: [utterly blasé]   
Huh. Guess I did get him that time after all. 

**Varda**:   
Such a fate does not daunt you? 

[he turns back to face the Thrones] 

**Beren**: [shrugging]   
It's only what I expected. 

**Manwe**:   
And for all your efforts to avoid it, you find it preferable to that which was? 

**Beren**: [levelly]   
If that had happened -- she would still be alive. And Huan. And Finrod, and   
the noblest lords of Nargothrond. And a whole bunch of other people in Doriath.   
No one I loved would have died because of me. 

**Varda**:   
It is too late for that, at this stanza. Those who trusted in your ability to   
defy our rival and to defend them, against all reason, and left their hiding   
places and rekindled the flame of defiance against Melkor, and were ground   
into the ashes of their holdings -- are they no one, then? You survived that   
disastrous rising, but what of those who believed, and were taught the error   
of their faith by the Lord of Wolves? 

[silence] 

**Beren**:   
That -- it -- it wasn't-- 

[he breaks off. In a choked tone] 

You're not being fair. 

**Varda**: [calm]   
What is in error? That your remnant people died? Or that they did so the   
sooner, because of your provocation? Or that you loved them? 

[long pause] 

**Beren**: [grinding out the words]   
All right. I made mistakes too. That can't be the only way. 

[the fiery glow changes to a calmer light -- the sun is rising over a green valley,   
over which in the background loom shining mountain peaks; on one of these can be   
seen the spires of a slightly-alien-looking but mostly traditional castle. Far off   
there is still a dark smudge on the horizon even as the sky rapidly becomes blue.   
In the foreground is a fairly-Viking-looking village, with carved painted pillars   
and gables on the houses, and fields all around either plowed or full of livestock.   
Lots of horses. A stream runs through the middle of the vale. Deer drink at it;   
broad-winged hawks circle overhead.] 

**Manwe**:   
Yet another ending, to your story, then-- 

[up the road to the village comes a rider on a gorgeous steed, cantering to one   
of the farmhouses, from which charge several tow-headed children of different   
heights and both sexes, but all equally enthusiastic enough to make it a good   
thing the picture is without sound; they are followed almost instantly by two   
tall women with braided hair, one gold, the other silver, who join in the mobbing   
of the returned horseman -- whose clothes, even in the impressionistic rendering,   
certainly are not a mismatched collection of rags. As the traveler, gesturing back   
towards the distant tower, is welcomed home by three generations of family, and   
his children pile onto the horse heading towards a barn, while wife and mother   
lead him into the house, Beren turns a stricken countenance to the Lord and Lady.] 

**Beren**:   
Is this real? Is that what would have happened, if I'd gone instead of staying? 

**Varda**:   
We cannot tell. It could have been. 

**Manwe**:   
Is this the story that would content you, the ending rightfully yours, of   
which your Doom has cheated you? 

**Beren**: [softly, shaking his head]   
No. --No-- 

[he is distraught and nearly in tears] 

**Varda**: [faintly curious]   
You would not hesitate to change your past for an earlier and more painful   
death -- yet you are of divided mind regarding a change that might have   
granted a full and happy life according to your people's measure. Do you not   
think that a strange thing? 

**Beren**:   
I -- I-- 

[he lifts his hand helplessly] 

I wouldn't have known Tinuviel then. I wouldn't ever have known -- what else   
the world could be. 

[pause] 

I know that doesn't make any sense. Everything else that way is the same.   
Nobody else gets hurt. But if I had just died fighting, I wouldn't -- I   
wouldn't think that was the best that it could be -- I wouldn't have missed   
anything. It -- it seems worse, to have lived without ever realizing what   
more there was. 

[he bites his lip, and shakes his head again, half-laughing, half-crying] 

I guess it would have been better if I was never born at all. 

**Varda**:   
Truly? 

[he nods, his expression grim] 

You know, then, better than the One, who should exist in Arda? 

**Beren**:   
I didn't say that. 

**Varda**:   
Did you not? 

[silence] 

**Beren**: [sullen]   
--Only for me. Because of what happened because of me. 

**Manwe**:   
But there are so many other possibilities. What if you had died to guard your   
companions on their way to join your kin of Hador? What if you had gone at   
once to Nargothrond with news of your father's death, instead of remaining to   
wage war alone? Or if Elwe's daughter had never found you in the forest --   
how many long years in peace would you have stayed? Each one a different story.   
Would all those truly have been so much worse than not having lived at all?   
What of the lives you did save, the fugitives you did guard who escaped to   
other lands? 

[Beren scowls, but doesn't answer] 

**Varda**:   
You would ordain the world according to your certainty. But have you no   
consideration for the way that Luthien would rather have things Be? Would   
her ideal Song have no mortal note of yours? 

[pause] 

**Beren**:   
It would still be better for her if she hadn't met me. 

[the Starqueen just Looks at him] 

What? 

[still waiting] 

It's true. 

**Varda**: [ice]   
So you, too, number yourself among those who are wiser than she, and how   
her life should be ordered for her, will she, nil she. 

[silence] 

**Beren**: [still stubborn, but quieter]   
It would have been better if things hadn't happened the way they did.   
--Unless you think it's a good thing she's dead. 

**Varda**:   
Many things would be better, if matters had fallen out other than they did. 

**Manwe**: [earnest]   
Have you thought at all what other deeds done in the world might have changed   
things? Or do you believe that your hands alone shape the fate of Arda? 

**Beren**:   
Hand. You're behind on things. 

[aside, dismayed] 

--I don't believe I'm doing this. I'm mouthing off to the High King and   
Queen of all the earth, like a bratty eight-year-old, and I can't help it,   
and any Man or Elf would have slammed me one by now or stopped talking to   
me, and gods forbid Ma would've heard me talking to anyone like this --   
only they're not-- 

[shrugging] 

It's not just me. About me. Or us. It's everybody. Whatever happens, in war   
or not, people suffer and die. Even here. Because the world is all just wrong. 

[the Powers look at each other for a silent moment before turning their shimmering   
gaze back on the mortal spirit] 

**Manwe**: [quietly]   
How, then, would you have ordained the world? 

[pause] 

**Beren**: [short]   
I'm serious. 

**Varda**:   
As are we. 

[he looks at them, exasperated, but they're a lot more patient than he is] 

**Beren**: [sarcastic, playing along, but getting caught up in it]   
Oh sure, you want me to solve all the problems in the universe. How to end   
suffering and warfare. Hm. 

[thinking out loud] 

Well, let's see . . . for starters, no Morgoth. 

**Varda**: [earnest]   
He cannot be destroyed. Even were we to battle him again -- which itself would   
ruin as much or more as he has done, and serve his purposes even as we attempted   
to counter them -- we cannot end him. His spirit is as eternal as ours, and may   
only be restrained by our strength, but never slain, though his shape may be   
harmed according to the laws of earth and flesh. 

**Beren**:   
I mean just -- never make him, so he can't think of things to do to the world.   
That would eliminate them before they ever happened, right? 

**Varda**:   
Melkor did not compel any of those who followed him to do so. Lied to them,   
yes; suggested potentialities to them that otherwise had never crossed their   
minds; intimidated those who wished to resist him. But if he could have forced   
any to join him regardless of will, would he not have done so to me, first   
of all? 

**Beren**: [frowning]   
You? Why you? 

[the High King of Arda covers his face with his hands, while his Queen tilts her   
head and Looks at the mortal with as much amusement as a body shaped of starlight   
and midnight can convey] 

**Varda**:   
Why Luthien the Nightingale? --Why Arien of the Burning Heart? And many, many   
more, most never given names in your speech. 

[as it starts to add up, Beren looks from her to her consort in growing surprise,   
then at the floor with an expression of chagrin.] 

--Because there are those who cannot bear the thought that beauty should be   
free, that joy should take cause from any source but themselves, that another   
will should be strong and use that strength for any other purpose but at their   
pleasure. 

[with a touch of sharpness creeping in] 

I am not a collectible either. Nor will I ever be a slave -- still less,   
then, a tool for another's ambitions. 

**Manwe**:   
If my elder had not chosen to subject all voices to his own, and silence all   
who would not sing his tune -- still would those who gladly made themselves   
his captains and spies been free to choose to do the same, though weaker their   
voices and smaller the discords than he causes. 

**Varda**:   
Even we. Even in us the lure of domination might rise, did we not take our   
first and greatest joy in being, not in having. 

[louder] 

--Even I might have refused to allow any other light save my Work to shine   
upon the world, commanded that no rival stars be made from earth by cunning   
hands, or when the Darkness came, declared that so 'twas meant to be, and   
never should any other brightness defile the sky to hide my art, forbidden   
my fellow Voices to call forth the Two whose light obscures them, and fought   
them if they refused to obey me -- and given my love the choice between my   
will, and my love. Even I might fall, did I not ever strive against jealousy   
and falsehood in my heart. --Even I. 

[softer] 

Banishing a Voice unheard cannot prevent discord from rising in another's Song. 

**Beren**: [pleading]   
But can't you make them be good? Without Morgoth you're the most powerful,   
right? So why can't you just change it? 

**Manwe**:   
How? 

**Beren**: [frustrated]   
I don't know, I'm not a god. --Just stop them from being able to do anything   
harmful. 

**Manwe**:   
Have you the power to do harm? 

**Beren**: [snorting]   
I'm dead now. 

**Manwe**:   
We are aware of that. Can one not choose to work to good or to ill, even in   
fetters, when no bodily power save the mind's ability to affirm, or deny,   
to forgive, speak love or hate, defy -- is all that remains? 

[pause] 

Have you not yet such power within your mastery? 

**Beren**:   
--Some. 

**Manwe**:   
Housed or not, whence comes that power? 

[pause] 

**Beren**: [reluctant]   
From me. Deciding what to say or do. 

**Manwe**:   
Shall we take it from you? Leave but an image of yourself, that cannot speak   
any thought that does not first come from mine, or work any wish that does not   
come from hers? What is left of Beren, when we have done so? Of any person,   
mortal, deathless, or divine? 

[silence] 

**Beren**: [grim]   
Is -- is that what you're gonna do to me? 

[the Powers shake their heads] 

Why not? I've caused you enough trouble, I bet. 

**Varda**:   
No one has that right. --None. 

[pause] 

**Beren**: [smiling sardonically]   
Not even me. I get it. 

**Manwe**:   
Nor even, entirely, the power. To destroy is not to govern; to slay, not to   
rule. Do not the Enemy's own servants even rebel so far as they are able? 

[pause] 

**Beren**:   
Okay, then . . . let's tackle this a different way. Defensive, not offensive. 

[frowning] 

How's this? I wouldn't have anything that could be hurt or destroyed. And   
nothing that could do harm or be used to destroy things. Nothing caused by   
Morgoth, or tainted by him. 

[looking up at them with his head on one side, cockily] 

I think that should do it. 

**Manwe**:   
Truly? 

[Beren nods] 

**Varda**:   
Nothing? 

[he shakes his head] 

**Varda**:   
**Manwe**: [unison, sadly]   
Behold the world of your Song-- 

[in the windows the village disappears from the valley and the castle from   
the mountainside. Followed, in turn, by the soaring birds and deer, and then   
the vegetation, leaving only bare earth, rock, and water under an empty sky] 

**Beren**: [angry]   
No. That isn't what I said. 

**Varda**:   
Nothing mortal is left -- nor Eldarin, for to live and to know is to be able   
to suffer. 

**Manwe**:   
But even now, there are still those things which may be harmed, and those   
which were caused by my elder. 

[the stream vanishes, and the mountains sink down into the earth, leaving an   
empty plain under the sun, which fades slowly, not setting, right from the middle   
of the sky. As the horizon reddens and darkens:] 

Nor will the moon rise to take her place, for neither Anor nor Isil would   
have come to be, were it not for the deaths of the Two. Is this lightless   
world, too dead for Death to work any further harm upon, better than the other? 

[pause] 

**Beren**: [stubbornly]   
The Stars weren't made by the Enemy. They can't destroy anything. 

[in the deepening gloom, points of light reappear, gradually returning almost to   
their real splendour] 

**Varda**:   
But they were made for our fellow Children, and to warn Melkor against doing   
harm to the world. So they, too, were partly caused by him. 

[pause] 

**Beren**:   
Still -- not made by him, and -- they can't be hurt. They're just lights. 

**Varda**: [calm]   
But even my works will not last forever, and in time they too will reach   
the end of their lifespan, and the Heavens will fail, and then there will   
be nothing left but the changeless Dark. 

[in the windows the Stars slowly go out, leaving only blackness -- the only   
lights now are from the three spirits conversing there] 

And we, too, are banished from your Song -- for we have been harmed with Ea,   
and we must suffer in this All-that-is of ours. 

[he does not answer] 

Two times already you have denied the Void. Will you now, at the last, reject   
the World? 

[pause -- Beren looks silently at the wall of unending Night, and then at the   
Starmaker, for an equally long moment, and then slowly bows his head] 

**Beren**: [almost whispering]   
No. 

**Varda**: [with a shading of approval in her remote voice]   
We hoped you would not. 

**Manwe**: [equal approbation]   
Well-chosen, friend. 

[the star-dome returns as it was, blue-white, blue-black, silver-iridescent,   
shimmering over them.] 

**Beren**: [bitter smile]   
Huh. 

[he looks at them again, at last; softly:] 

What should I do? 

[simultaneously] 

**Manwe**:   
**Varda**:   
We do not know. 

[he bows his head again, shaking it] 

**Beren**:   
Right. 

[he turns as if in a daze, or concussed, and begins walking wearily towards   
the Stair.] 

**Varda**:   
What will you do? 

**Beren**: [brokenly]   
I don't know. 

[at the door he looks back, speaking over his shoulder:] 

The Stars -- they were very beautiful . . . Thank you for making them.   
--And for the Eagles. 

[He turns again and steps through the Door, and vanishes. The King and Queen   
look at each other sadly and clasp hands between their thrones.]   


* * *

**SCENE V.v**

[the Hall] 

[Luthien is looking a bit hectic and brittle as she talks, just short of   
ranting, with the illusion of more control than actually is present. It is   
a very awkward situation for her audience, who cannot actually do anything   
to help the distress to which they are witness, and haven't anywhere else   
to go -- though Luthien is fairly unaware of their presence at the moment   
now that Finrod has gotten her started talking, and would probably not   
notice if they left or not.] 

**Luthien**:   
And everyone kept trying to make me feel that it was my fault for being   
miserable, as if I were just -- choosing to be unhappy, out of spite, to   
punish them. Not that if I'd known what they were going to do after I   
wouldn't have wanted to -- but I'm not Gifted that way. Not like Mom. 

[shaking her head] 

It's so strange, looking back on that time, and knowing now what I didn't   
know then, not just about what was happening to Beren and you, but about   
everything. How things would happen. What people would do. That they would   
make those decisions, and what I would do, and now it's like watching other   
people playing chess, and seeing the strategies they're using, and knowing   
how the game is going to go, and not being able to do anything about it,   
because they won't listen to advice. Only it's not really like that, because   
it's all in the past. --But would we have listened, if we had actually known   
what was going to happen, or would we not? 

**Angrod**: [quietly]   
We didn't. 

[Finarfin tries to catch his gaze, but he won't look up] 

**Luthien**:   
The worst thing was how they all expected that it would pass, if I weren't   
being so perversely-stubborn. "I can't just get over him," I kept telling   
everybody-- 

[with a narrow Look at the Ambassador] 

--"and I'm not singing because I don't feel like singing, not because   
I'm trying to make you feel guilty, and I'm staying out in the woods all   
the day round because I can't stand to be around here, and at least there   
I can remember him even if it hurts -- not because there's still a spell   
on me." 

[angry sigh] 

And Dad would say things like "He's not coming back, he's certainly not   
crying his eyes out over you, and he isn't worth your notice, let alone   
getting despondent over," and Mom would say, "You don't understand," and   
when I'd say -- "What? So tell me--" she'd just shake her head and sigh   
and give me this pitying smile, until I'd start saying it was the same   
as them, and then she'd get upset. 

[icy emphasis] 

And everyone wanted me to just be happy. --Or to stop being unhappy so that   
they wouldn't have to feel uncomfortable around me, at least. That was the   
worst -- when I realized that it wasn't -- at least not entirely -- concern   
for me that made them want me to be normal and back to my old self. 

**Amarie**: [aside]   
Aye, that's a tune its burden I ken well. 

[her lips tighten in angry recollection] 

**Luthien**: [getting more and more precise]   
I felt so -- so drained and horrible at first, after the numbness wore   
off, that I thought I was fading -- and I told people that, and they   
laughed. "Don't be silly." --Don't be silly--! That was what they told   
me. Because you can't really be in love with a human, so you can't be   
fading, even if he was dead. --Only Daeron didn't laugh. He knew it was   
real. He always knew. 

[she wipes her eyes furiously while Finrod looks up over her head to meet   
Aegnor's burning Look] 

**Finrod**: [quietly]   
I never said that. --You said something very close to that, when you came   
to ask me for help. --I didn't laugh, either. 

**Luthien**: [oblivious to their interaction]   
And I thought he was sorry because he understood now, because he believed   
me, that it was an accident in a way, an honest mistake of him fearing for   
me -- not that he was jealous and didn't care that we were truly in love.   
He was so understanding and sympathetic, listening to me for hours, and it   
never occurred to me to think that he was doing it for an ulterior motive. 

[the tears start winning over her self-control again] 

**Elenwe**: [shaking her head]   
'Tis a strange and wondrous thing, such avarice for love, that sorroweth   
at others' joy, nay, had liefer suffer in solitary darkness than take   
delight in the shining world else, and seemeth much akin to that which   
denieth joy to others, when to share delight should cost one naught of   
loss, nay, moreover but little distance, to that Darkest joy that feedeth   
but on sorrow. 

**Ambassador**: [hackles raised]   
My lady, we of the Twilight are not of the Dark, and little would you presume   
to think it, did you know our Lord and Lady in their gracious selves. 

**Finarfin**: [not angry, but stern]   
Sir, we do not for ever here compare our very selves unto our sundered Kin,   
but most of all do speak and think of that which hath our present and former   
experience encompass't. --Such, I do believe, is most commonly the way of it,   
among any folk of any race, else place, else Age. My kinswoman did set in   
balance the deeds of this thy Daeron against them of Feanor my brother, and   
deem both at some near remove from th'envious soul of him our common foe,   
the Lord of Fetters -- no more. 

[pause] 

**Ambassador**:   
I do beg your pardon, gentles. The dissensions that your rebel element's   
return have made within this Age throughout our lands have caused us to be   
somewhat over-ready in taking insult; but I should have considered first   
that those most near to Felagund would scarcely speak with the same arrogance   
as others. 

[Elenwe is as indifferent to the apology as to the reason for it, but   
Finarfin exchanges a wry glance with his brother's shade -- the "relative   
of Finrod" status is a sensation which takes some getting used to] 

**Luthien**: [unable to stop crying, embarrassed]   
I'm sorry, this is so stupid-- 

[Eol chuckles -- Finrod turns to give him a lethal glare while Fingolfin turns   
away from the sight of his son-in-law's ghost, clenching his fists] 

**Finrod**: [to Eol]   
Say anything, kinsman, and I will both personally and vicariously beat you   
into the floor. Repeatedly, until you learn better manners or the Powers ask   
me to stop, whichever comes first. Understood? 

[Eol doesn't deign to respond, but doesn't say anything to or about Luthien.   
Aredhel smirks, just a little] 

**Captain**: [grim approval]   
No shortage of volunteers, for that. 

[the Noldor princess leans towards him, in a familiar aside] 

**Aredhel**: [offhand]   
You know, it's a shame your sister isn't here. 

[the Captain starts, and then stares fixedly ahead at her words, with the   
expression of someone who does not dare to say anything just yet, or else is   
choking on too many things to be said all at once. Finrod's cousin goes on:] 

She's so much fun -- I'd enjoy having her about, and then there'd be someone   
on my side finally. 

[pause] 

**Luthien**: [sobbing]   
"I can't just cheer up," I said, "and I'm not even going to try -- are you   
crazy?" And then -- people started pretending -- pretending -- that I wasn't   
there-- 

[overlapping]   
**Amarie**:   
Would that I might have had such inattention 'gainst myself! 

**Teler Maid**:   
Only one person ever did feign I was not present. 

[their respective partners react with obvious tenseness and chagrin. The Captain   
looks at Aredhel at last:] 

**Captain**: [absolutely neutral and pleasant]   
It's funny you should say that, your Highness, because my lord's sister and   
I were discussing the same thing on the Ice once, and what the Lady Galadriel   
said to me was, "Good thing Suli's smarter than either of us -- I'd hate to   
have drawn her into this," and I agreed absolutely with every point of it,   
in every possible way. 

[longer pause] 

**Luthien**: [sarcastic]   
"Just forget about him" -- as if! 

**Finrod**: [rueful]   
At least you didn't have siblings telling you that you ought to find   
someone else. 

[Amarie gives him a sudden diamond-flash Look, but his attention is on   
comforting Luthien. Angrod and Aegnor share involuntary, guilt-filled   
glances. Aredhel narrows her eyes at the Captain] 

**Aredhel**: [coldly]   
My cousin indulges your impertinence shamefully. 

**Captain**:   
No, as a matter of fact, the word you want is "abets," my lady. I manage   
things that it would be inappropriate for him to take official notice of.   
--Unless you're referring to that one time when I broke your nose by accident.   
--Which I wouldn't have done if you'd clobbered me from in front rather than   
behind. Did you want me to apologize for that again, your Highness? 

**Aredhel**:   
No. 

**Captain**: [meaningfully]   
Just a little friendly advice -- I really don't think you should express   
your indignation on behalf of your friends quite so -- energetically this   
time, when someone says anything about the sons of Feanor in the near future. 

**Aredhel**:   
Do not tell me what to do. You're not one of my counselors. 

[snorting] 

--I don't consider you a friend, either. 

**Captain**: [easily]   
Yes, but I consider the Lord of Dogs and Beren and Princess Luthien mine,   
in their own ways. They don't need more trouble, even if you aren't worried. 

[with a sidelong Look] 

Besides, Highness, what do you care what anyone says to you? You never let   
it affect you one way or the other. 

**Aredhel**:   
Shut up. 

[Luthien pounds her clenched hand on her knee, until Huan lifts up his head with   
a whine and rests it on her lap] 

**Luthien**: [raising her voice]   
"He's not a tame deer," I said, "I didn't lose a pet -- and I didn't   
lose a game either, it isn't just that I was humiliated in front of   
everybody -- I can't just brush it off and move on to the busy fun-   
filled rest of my life, and you trying to 'help' me by making me   
participate in silliness and make-work are just making it worse by   
making the contrast between your lives and what's been done to us   
all the stronger!" 

[she shakes her head, stroking Huan's muzzle absently as she goes on,   
getting hiccoughy again] 

And they said -- you're being -- heartless. --And irrational. 

[her voice gives out and she lets Finrod pull her against his shoulder   
so she can just cry.] 

**Fingolfin**: [sad]   
Those twin goads of loneliness and anger do serve as spurs to action   
at the need, but in the quiet hours and between-whiles how such terrible   
weights drag upon the heart and mind and even flesh and bone, so that   
only action cure them, for a little while . . . 

[his living relatives look at him with both sympathy and a little surprise   
at this display of reflection on the part of one so formerly brash, but his   
daughter shakes her head scornfully] 

**Aredhel**: [impatient]   
Oh, Father, when are you going to stop feeling sorry for yourself? It's   
embarrassing to be around you any more. 

[Nienna's Apprentice has a sudden coughing fit -- he waves his hand in dismissal   
as people turn and stare at him] 

**Apprentice**:   
Sorry. Something stuck in my throat. 

[aside] 

--Words. 

[very quietly and looking (for him) quite uncertain and awkward, the Lord Warden   
of Aglon comes in, scanning the chamber and not seeming to find whomever he is   
looking for. As he stands there by the doorway, the Lord of Dogs lifts his head   
and bares teeth in his direction, snarling softly, and both the Steward and his   
ex tense up -- Finrod sets one hand on his counselor's shoulder and takes hold   
of Huan's collar with the other, addressing all of his following in an undertone:] 

**Finrod**:   
--Disregard him unless and until he makes a scene. 

[after hesitating there the Lord Warden begins a very circuitous journey towards   
the side of the dais where the Apprentice is sitting, very obviously avoiding   
everyone else as well as avoiding looking at them, his carriage very stiff and   
haughty.] 

**Eol**: [spitting the words]   
I'll not share the same floor with one of them-- 

[he starts to rise] 

**Aredhel**: [brightly]   
Farewell! 

[at that he glares and sits back down, caught between two horns of the dilemma   
of controlling pride] 

**Soldier**: [quietly]   
Mithrim again. 

**Fingolfin**:   
Aye. 

**Elenwe**: [curious]   
What signifieth that word? 

**Finrod**: [grimacing]   
Long story. It's the lake where we first set up a permanent camp, you   
see . . . 

[as he gives a very quick rundown for the cousin who never set foot there, the   
partisan of Feanor comes to stand next to Nienna's Apprentice, wearing a bleak   
and very uncomfortable expression] 

**Aglon**: [abrupt]   
Where's your Master? 

[the Apprentice shrugs] 

I need to talk to her. 

**Apprentice**:   
Join the crowd. 

**Aglon**: [ice]   
I am in no mood for your humour now. 

**Apprentice**:   
Wasn't joking. I don't know where she is, and I badly want to ask her advice,   
so that makes two of us at least here. --Join the crowd. 

[shrugs again] 

Or don't, as you please. 

[the Warden of Aglon glares at him for a brief moment, looks around at the others   
uncertainly and realizes that he is not the center of all attention, that nobody   
is giving him more than passing notice, and slowly makes his way a little distance   
off, sits down -- but not so far that he is completely out of the conversation.] 

**Elenwe**:   
Little other than Tirion in the time of unrest it seemeth -- to journey so   
far afield, and yet make all as 'twas homewards! 

[she shakes her head in mild amazement at their folly] 

**Finrod**:   
Yes, but there it was different because we knew they'd killed, instead of   
just having it be this mysterious and unspoken possibility as it was in the   
Day of innocence. So it was pretty unpleasant for us, as you might imagine. 

[the newcomer gives him a hostile Look, but does nothing. To Luthien, who has   
cried herself out again:] 

Would you like more water? 

**Luthien**:   
No, thank you, I'm fine, I -- I'll be all right. 

[she wipes her eyes again and goes on in a thin forced tone of normality] 

Would you believe, my parents actually were put out with me because --   
they said -- it was my fault they couldn't take their summer holiday that   
year!? 

[with a grim smile of beyond-outrage exasperation] 

And I said, "My heart is broken, and you're complaining because you don't   
feel you can go on vacation." And Dad said, "You'll get over it." 

[wry] 

--I didn't.   


* * *

**SCENE V.vi**

  
[Elsewhere: the shadowy Stair] 

[Beren goes blindly down the steps, bent and defeated, his unsteadiness   
increasing with each pace, until he stumbles, falling to his knees as though   
drunk -- or wounded -- and lies sprawled on the descending staircase, his   
eyes closed and his face set in an expression of grim misery. For one instant   
he tries to push himself up, but his hand slips, his balance is gone, and he   
slams down hard against the stone again, and lets his head rest with a sigh.   
As the camera draws out from his face we see that the dark stairway has changed,   
into a slope of cindery grains, beyond which are yet more dark hills and dunes   
interrupted by the occasional sharp and broken-edged rock. There is a cold light   
over all, as if from a full moon that cannot yet be seen beyond the horizon,   
but no stars, and nothing living to be seen anywhere . . .]   


* * *

**SCENE V.vii**

[the Hall] 

[Nearly everyone is paying close attention to Luthien's account of the   
abrupt shattering of Doriath's serenity, although Aredhel is boredly   
flipping a dagger into the air and catching it in various creative ways,   
and as a result the Teler Maid is watching her with the disconcerting   
fascinated focus of a cat. Whatever temptations are simmering in her   
mind however apparently requiring some level of cooperation, any nefarious   
plans are presently held in check -- every time she looks pleadingly at   
one or another of the Ten, the Captain shakes his head definitely against   
it; for the present the White Lady is safe from juvenile mayhem.] 

**Luthien**: [earnestly to Finrod]   
I'm so sorry, you must be so bored listening to me complain about my   
family by now. 

[she is in much better control of herself right now, but clearly still   
fragile. Her cousin shakes his head] 

**Finrod**:   
No. I'm -- rather upset by the fact that part of me was still convinced   
that some of it had to be -- not exaggerated, perhaps, but at least   
somewhat magnified and distorted by report, and -- that I was wrong.   
I -- did expect much better of Elu and your mother than that. 

[he looks very downcast and rather agitated] 

This is the first time in the past twelve years that I've regretted 'Tari   
going out East. If she'd been there, I'm certain things wouldn't have come   
apart this way. 

[his father's attention sharpens, but the (living) King of the Noldor does   
not interrupt] 

**Luthien**: [sighing]   
Me too. From the very start. 

[with a slight smile] 

She hates being called that, you know. It annoys her worse than when you   
roll the "d" in her name. 

**Finrod**: [shrugging]   
Of course. That's why I do it. Someone's got to make her laugh when she   
starts getting all "Harken, fools!" over trivial things. Going on a picnic   
in May is not organizing a rope-bridge traverse over a crevasse and sometimes   
she forgets that. 

**Steward**: [observing quietly, apparently to Huan]   
You know it's gotten out of control when I start wondering if it's really   
necessary to redistribute the weight in the saddlebags just one more time   
and if it will make any difference if we've four dozen different choices   
of menu or only thirty-six. 

[the Doriathrin lord smiles faintly but quickly restrains his humour at the   
recollection; Finarfin's expression is a study in melancholy longing] 

**Luthien**: [wryly]   
And we still forgot, what was it, the walnut-butter? No, apple jelly. 

[frowning at Finrod] 

Only that was because you nicked it to tease her, and then you forgot you'd   
put it in your wallet until we'd gotten home. 

[pause] 

You're cheering me up again. 

**Finrod**: [rueful smile]   
Sorry. I'll try not to do it again. 

[she gives him a light swat with her fingers on his elbow] 

**Luthien**: [serious again, but in a sort of whimsical-remote tone]   
No, but really, it was as if I was the only adult left in Doriath, and   
everyone else was acting like -- like -- I don't know, like spooked   
animals in a thunderstorm or something. There's Mom -- "Let's just   
pretend nothing's happening," -- right after she's just told me that   
oh, yes, Beren's being tortured in a dungeon and the only brightness   
in his life is remembering us -- but don't go ask your father for an   
army, and don't even think about trying to rescue him yourself, because   
you'll just be miserable afterwards anyway. There's Daeron -- "I won't   
help you for his sake, because I'm upset with him for making you so   
unhappy, even if it's not reasonable -- but I'll do it for yours." 

[tossing her head scornfully] 

Huh -- with this friends like this, enemies have to wait their turn.   
And then there's Dad, alternating between shouting at me, shouting at   
Beren even though he's not there, and pleading with me in tears to just   
stop it all and promise that I wouldn't try to follow him. 

[she laughs shortly] 

--And then there's me, feeling like -- feeling like maybe this was what   
it felt like here, when the Darkness came and everybody went half-crazy   
like we heard-- 

[with a raised-eyebrow Look at Angrod] 

--in bits and pieces, to be sure. 

[transferring the Look to the Ambassador] 

And then there's everybody else, making perfectly-reasonable suggestions   
about what should be done to the madwoman, like keeping me locked in my   
rooms for a hundred years, except no, that wouldn't work, because I'd get   
sick and pine not being able to see starlight and trees, unless what if   
we put her to sleep for all that time instead, except that wouldn't work   
because nobody's powerful enough except maybe Mom and she wouldn't get   
involved, so then somebody comes up with the brilliant suggestion of   
sticking me up in the top of Hirilorn, which was just fiendishly brilliant,   
and who was it who came up with it any way, you or cousin Galadhon -- or   
I suppose it doesn't matter now, does it . . . 

**Eol**: [confused and disgusted]   
Why wouldn't it? 

[Luthien stares at him in equal confusion] 

The wrong does not cease to have been done you, because you are dead and   
there's no way now for you to revenge yourself against the perpetrator. 

[Elenwe turns and slowly looks at him as though he were some repellent but   
fascinating beast] 

**Elenwe**:   
'Twas yon will to vengeance that did animate thy foes, was't not? And   
burning vengeance that drove my lord his uncle, and's father, across   
the Sea unto their Dooms. 

[earnest] 

It must come, an end to vengeance -- else ne'er end shall come in Arda,   
nor only Arda its ending. 

**Eol**: [controlled, mocking irony]   
Spare me your pious mysticism, Light-elf. 

**Elenwe**: [mild]   
Aye -- yet shall any spare thee from thyself, kinsman? 

[the Warden of Aglon gives her a strange, troubled Look and then turns away,   
staring out into the shadows with an expression of longing] 

**Luthien**: [ignoring Eol and continuing to Finrod]   
You know, I finally felt sorry for Galadriel after it came out about the   
Kinslaying. It's funny -- I felt sorry for you all, getting shouted at by   
Dad, but I was too upset with her to pity her at all, back when it happened.   
I mean, I forgave her, and it was all right between us, like with her and   
Mom, but when it first was all still going on, after you left, and my parents   
made her sit down and fill in all the gaps and verify Mom's guesses-- 

[shaking her head] 

--I just felt betrayed. Because I felt like she was a little sister, or   
even better, because she was so different from everyone else I knew in   
Doriath and I knew her so much better than you, because she lived with us.   
I'd never had a friend like her before, and she was so clever and exciting   
and had so many stories to tell . . . and then I realized how much she'd   
been leaving out, and why, and it just made me sick. 

[in the background, the palantir is glowing softly, but no one is paying   
attention, and no one notices, not even Nienna's Apprentice. Eventually   
it goes dark again.] 

I wouldn't talk to her for I don't know how long. I stayed up in the   
trees because I didn't even want to look at her, or hear her try to   
apologize to me. When Mom and Dad were raking her over the coals and   
Celeborn took off to stand guard with the Rangers for a while and said   
he didn't know if he was going to come back, what was the point of   
setting up a communications system if the people it was meant to reach   
weren't going to talk to us -- I just felt it was justice. 

[Huan starts making increasingly-loud Please-Don't-Be-Unhappy! whines and   
she reaches down to shush him. With a profound sigh:] 

I still do. I don't think there's any comparison between concealing the   
story of the Darkening and all but lying to Mom while she was taking   
everything Mom would teach her, and not even telling Dad his best friend   
had been murdered until she had to, let alone the rest of it -- and my   
keeping Beren's presence for myself. I knew he wasn't a threat to us,   
-- and he wouldn't have been, if they hadn't made him into one. But when   
it was my turn to be questioned and reprimanded and cross-questioned and   
scolded again and again, I understood why she would have tried to put it   
off forever, pretend that everything was all right and deny it when it   
wasn't, for as long as possible -- because there's nothing more horrible   
than having the people you love look at you as if you've changed into   
something awful, or been changed-- 

[seriously] 

I'd forgiven her, but I hadn't ever pitied her before. But I finally   
knew what she must have been feeling, and how much it must have hurt   
inside, and I finally thought, "Poor Galadriel." 

[with an uneven smile] 

I only then realized how much it must have hurt for us to call her   
that -- Galadriel, I mean, not "poor" -- because of it being the name   
Celeborn gave her, until they got back together again after all that.   
What else were we going to call her? I don't think it even occurred to   
us to use her other ones. But she never gave any sign of what it must   
have felt like. I wasn't that brave -- though it was the other way   
around, I wanted them to use the name he'd given me -- but . . . 

**Finrod**: [gently]   
There was at least as much pride involved as unwillingness to embarrass   
you. --I know what we're like. She wouldn't have admitted that it made   
her unhappy any more than I ever let on that being teased by my relatives   
for having a Dwarven aftername once bothered me. 

[his uncle looks penitent, while his living relatives look interested] 

**Luthien**: [frowning]   
It did? 

**Finrod**: [correcting]   
The jesting -- that got old quickly. It stopped mattering when I asked   
myself why it did, being a true name, and given that I held the wisdom   
of the one who had occasioned it in far higher esteem than those kinsmen   
who laughed at the thought of Elves living in burrows underground. 

[Luthien gives the High King of the Noldor in Beleriand a hard Look -- then   
on a sudden inspiration turns and catches the Princes also looking rather   
embarrassed] 

**Luthien**: [dry]   
No, well, you wouldn't have heard any teasing like that around our House,   
obviously. 

**Finrod**:   
Why do you think I used to invite myself over for long visits? It wasn't   
only for the free music. 

**Luthien**:   
I thought it was to argue over the nature of Time with Dad. That's what it   
seemed like. 

[with a small reminiscent smile] 

Galadriel and I used to have bets on how long it would take for you to   
start arguing about whether Time was a constant or not and who would be   
the first one to say the words "axle of the heavens." 

**Finrod**: [loftily]   
We -- discussed other things, too. On several occasions. 

[checks] 

Sorry -- I'm cheering you up again. 

**Luthien**: [with a nostalgic smile]   
It's all right. 

[dreamily] 

It's kind of nice . . . to remember being happy and safe and not worried   
or angry. It wasn't, when I was alive -- it just made things so much worse. 

[checking] 

Is that -- another reason -- why you all never wanted to talk about Aman   
the way Mom did? 

[Finrod nods sadly] 

**Nerdanel**: [shaking her head, bemused]   
I confess, I do find it a great wonder and a difficulty, to conceive of   
young Artanis wed. 

**Aredhel**:   
It's even funnier thinking of her living the primitive rustic life out in   
the woods all the time, not just going out on hunting trips but staying   
in a cave with no conveniences and no technology surrounded by illiterates. 

[Eol snarls at this; Luthien gives the Noldor Princess a cool, thoughtful look   
as the latter says leadingly] 

Though someone as dull and dutiful as he sounds might be pleasant . . . 

[she smiles at her husband's expression; for the first time she seems to   
properly notice her aunt's existence.] 

--What are you doing here anyway, 'Danel? You're not dead. 

**Nerdanel**: [brusque]   
I do recollect me that once thou hadst better manners, when thou didst   
guest within my House -- else better mastery of thy inconsideration. 

[she gives Fingolfin a Look that says volumes (or centuries, rather) about   
past familial interaction] 

**Finrod**:   
'Feiniel, you know we've told you what the Thousand Caves were like,   
not quite a thousand times, but often enough. 

[Aredhel tosses her head as she catches her dagger by the point and spins   
it about her fingers] 

**Aredhel**:   
Yes, but it's amusing to watch my consort strangle over wanting to   
contradict me but not wanting to say anything nice about his royal   
cousins whatsoever. 

[this doesn't impress any of her relatives -- favorably, but it does inspire   
the Elf from Alqualonde to beg for her friends' assistance again] 

**Teler Maid**: [urgent whisper]   
Please! Oh please, just but once! 

[she clasps her hands and makes puppy-eyes at the Captain, but he shakes   
his head] 

**Captain**:   
Be patient, Ternlet. 

[she sulks a bit, and starts eyeing the Apprentice speculatively as her next   
target in would-be conspiracy] 

**Finarfin**: [hesitantly to Luthien]   
Gentle kinswoman, I had not willingly to interrupt thy discourse further   
-- yet must I perforce wish to, would I or no; and thus I'll entreat thy   
gracious indult that thou might say, and thou wouldst in mercy, of what   
temper and measure and spirit be this thy kinsman, that hast been named   
in hearing as one Celeborn -- and eke my son as yet unknown to me, by   
bond of love. 

[Luthien blinks for a moment] 

**Luthien**:   
What's he like--? Well, um . . . he's my cousin . . . he likes messing   
around with boats, he's got a good way with trees -- he can be pretty   
stubborn, sometimes -- of course, that's all of us-- 

**Finrod**: [cutting in]   
He's pretty reasonable most of the time, I always thought. 

**Aegnor**: [muttering]   
Yes, but you only say that because he usually agrees with you. 

**Finrod**:   
And your point is--? 

[his living relatives are not sure how to take this] 

**Angrod**:   
You two argued for almost a month over the special boat service you   
wanted Menegroth to implement as part of your communications network. 

**Finrod**:   
Yes, but he came round to my way of seeing things in the end, so that   
was all right. 

**Nerdanel**: [raising an eyebrow]   
And thou dost rebuke others for fault of arrogance? 

**Finrod**: [snorting]   
You think I believe only agreement is a sign of rationality? Not at all   
-- his objections were mostly well-founded, and indicated things which   
needed to be worked through in more detail, if they hadn't been quite   
overlooked. I was referring to him losing his temper and saying things   
he has to apologize for afterwards, or running off to the Marches instead   
of . . . 

[he stops talking and looks quickly at and away from Amarie. Pause. Stiffly:] 

Never mind about that. --He isn't unreasonable beyond reason -- most of   
the time he is quite rational and objective. 

**Finarfin**: [still concerned]   
Thou art assuréd of his goodness, his wisdom, moreover that his strength   
sufficeth for that thy sister might not overawe his better sense, as hath   
betimes been known of our House in bygone Day? 

**Finrod**: [slightly mocking tone]   
Father, are you asking me for my judgment on matters of virtue and prudence? 

**Finarfin**:   
Aye. 

[pause] 

**Finrod**:   
Yes. He loves her enough to contradict her when he must. There aren't that   
many of any of our Kindreds brave enough to do that. And she loves him   
enough to listen when he does. She knows that she can trust Celeborn to   
stand firm upon matters of principle, even if he'd rather give in to her   
for the sake of peace -- but that in matters of personal pride and no more,   
he's strong enough to bend, and to apologize, and to change his mind when   
he sees himself in the wrong. 

**Finarfin**: [with the slightly-edged tone his son used a moment ago]   
And thou dost not deem him weak, else irresolute, for all of that? 

[pause] 

**Finrod**: [taut]   
No.   


* * *

**SCENE V.viii**

  
[Elsewhere: the Dark Land]   
  
[Beren is still lying motionless on the burnt hillside, with all as in the   
previous scene, the only movement or sound being a small whisper of wind   
over the dunes blowing little drifts of ash about. A tall figure approaches   
across the field of defeat, completely robed and muffled in long, flowing   
draperies that conceal all individuality and prevent any glimpse of features   
beneath the overshadowing hood. There should be a striking resemblence between   
Luthien in Act II and She Who Mourns, as she now appears, coming to stand   
beside him, still veiled.] 

**Nienna**:   
For what do you sorrow, Child? 

[there is a long pause, before he answers, through clenched teeth, not raising   
his head nor even opening his eyes:] 

**Beren**:   
--Everything. 

**Nienna**:   
--Then for what do you not weep? 

**Beren**: [bitter]   
What difference does it make? 

**Nienna**:   
You might be surprised. 

[pause] 

What of the griefs that are yours? What of your pains, and the losses   
of home, of comrade and kin, of joy and hope and song? 

**Beren**:   
What are mine, in the balance of Ea? 

**Nienna**:   
If you will not grant your own sorrow the right of honour, what of   
others'--? 

[pause] 

What then of she who loves you, who has known so many weary days on your   
behalf, each filled with grief beyond measure, and each heavier than   
the last? Is her sorrow of no worth, for being the sorrow of one only? 

[silence -- but alive with tension] 

--What, too, of the lady of the Northlands, who left behind her heart   
and her hope, even as she bore away others' in the strength of her staff   
and her sword, repaying the trust of her people at the cost of heart's   
breaking? 

[the ash blows in a sudden gust like smoke] 

What of her lord, who dying hoped, but never knew, that the son of their   
love yet escaped the Doom that love betrayed had brought him? 

[he makes a choked sound, not quite a sob, but does not move] 

What of those lovers, rent for no wrongdoing of theirs, but only the   
misfortune of place, and time, and the Marring? Or what of the lost, with   
their lord and the land they defended, whose reward for such service was   
ever-more privation, and not even victory to set in mind as the hope or   
the fee of it? What of that land, of the wounded earth and the tortured   
trees, and the anguish of all under the burden of hate? 

[Beren gives a convulsive shiver] 

What of the people who loved as well and truly as they hated, hiding their   
young lord and holding his secret in their own despite? Or of those others,   
not bound by blood, nor fealty, nor any tie save friendship, whose faith   
held firmer than any wall or weapon ever shall? What of the King who   
suffered shame upon shame without reproach, and clasped pain still greater   
most freely in hope of sparing friend the same? 

[his hand clenches up the burnt sand where it rests] 

What of the faithful Hound, who might not save his master, for all his   
strength, and all his suffering, even at the cost of his own life --   
exchange made but folly, in that Man's dying? 

[pause] 

Are they not worthy of your tears? 

[silence -- he does not answer, but she does not leave, waiting. After long   
moments Beren draws his arm closer against his face, hiding his expression --   
and very quietly begins to cry. ]   


* * *

**SCENE V.ix.**

  
[the Hall] 

[Luthien has recovered some of her usual animation and is telling about   
her past experiences in a tone made more vigorous by indignation, though   
there is a very tenuous quality to it, like a gap between clouds on a   
midsummer day. (Huan has finagled the Steward into allowing him to rest   
his head on the Elf-lord's lap, and now is lying on the dais like a docile,   
napping Kodiak bear, enjoying non-stop if absent-minded ear scratching.)] 

**Luthien**:   
I was so completely in shock. I didn't honestly know what I was feeling   
at the moment -- it was as though I were watching myself and wondering   
what it was this person was going to do now, as if I were hearing a tale   
about someone that this was all happening to. And convinced that it wasn't   
actually going to happen -- that I was having a nightmare, just like a   
mortal, not that it was real, but that somehow I was going to break out   
of it and find it was only a dream gone bad. Or if it was real, surely it   
wouldn't really play through to the end of the verse -- that Dad wasn't   
really serious, that Mom wasn't going to pretend she didn't know what was   
happening right outside our front door, which was a pretty impressive bit   
of self-deception given all the work it was to set up rigging and build   
a full-fledged house, not just a talan, all the way up in Hirilorn. 

[looking rather anxiously at Finrod] 

Was I wrong? Was I stupid to refuse to give in, and just lie about   
it and pretend to agree to give up Beren, and then leave? Instead of   
telling the truth, that I couldn't make that promise in conscience,   
or honor it if I gave it? 

**Finrod**: [quiet but earnest]   
No. Trying to do evil so that good will come of it is hopeless. It   
would have made everything worse eventually. 

[she frowns with a bitter expression, not at him but abstractedly] 

**Luthien**:   
I still don't understand it. --Especially Mom. Even after we came home   
I couldn't get any straight answers out of her. --Any answers, really.   
If she knew Beren was there, why didn't she tell Dad right off? If she   
knew I was seeing him, why did she say nothing to any of us, not even   
me? I know they fought about her silence after he found out that I'd   
gone to her for advice and she didn't say anything to him about what   
I said, but -- and then she didn't stop me, but she didn't help me   
either, but then she sort of did by not preventing me by interfering.   
So I just don't get it. 

**Nerdanel**: [mild]   
Belike her tenderness towards thee did differ in small wise from thine   
own most fearful love and striving to hold safe withal thy Beren from   
his fate? 

**Luthien**:   
Yes, but then why did she not not get involved as much as she did   
get involved? 

[silence] 

**Amarie**: [aside]   
There's naught of sense in that. 

**Angrod**:   
Actually, it isn't really any different from us wondering why the   
gods back home didn't stop things before they got out of hand. 

**Aegnor**: [undertone]   
--Here. We are home, brother. 

**Amarie**:   
Aye, and here's the end forewarnéd of such rebel thinking! 

[Finrod looks away in distress; Luthien clasps his hand in sympathy] 

**Angrod**: [pleasantly]   
Indeed, here we are -- and do you know, I've heard more harping on   
that one note in the last hour, than I have in the past ten years   
since we were killed, from the Powers that rule here? 

[pause] 

**Captain**:   
More like twelve -- no, thirteen, by now. 

[Amarie's expression is set as stone] 

**Luthien**:   
Actually, Nessa was very definite that they don't and didn't know   
everything that's going on in the world, only lots of it. I didn't   
get any sense that she was lying, or even shading the truth, to me. 

**Nerdanel**: [with a touch of trouble-making]   
Nay, 'ware thee, cousin, else my niece-by-love be troubled to heart's   
veriest heart by thy most impertinent impieties. 

[the living Vanyar lady reacts with an angry glare] 

**Angrod**: [frowning, with both resentment and confusion in his tone]   
Though that still leaves the question of how they managed not to   
realize what we were up to, right next door to us as it were. 

**Fingolfin**: [tolerant, but sad]   
Nay, lad, have you forgotten so swiftly, that we did all in our power   
to conceal our activities, and dissembled with smiling faces and lying   
silence, at the first, and then with the guise of our heraldry and devices,   
making it seem but one more new thing we had devised, no more than letters,   
or the symbolism of colors and other such languages, hiding our swords'   
forging beneath this covering most open to the eye, as we covered our   
resentments beneath words of flattery and studiousness that did but steal   
all that teaching so freely given -- and why should they mistrust us from   
the first, that had given us no cause to hate them? If you would be judged   
fairly, you must be as just in your own turn. 

[his nephew bridles a bit at being so rebuked, but nevertheless is thoughtful   
and silent at his words; his living kin regard him with bemusement, but only   
his daughter-in-law actually says anything:] 

**Elenwe**: [surprised tone]   
Verily, is't thou, Fingolfin?! 

[in the awkward interval of Valinorean surprise at the fact that Feanor's   
eldest brother is talking about prudence and dispassionate perspective:] 

**Apprentice**: [aside]   
I'd regret the fact that this son of Finwe has learned mercy and wisdom --   
even a little -- too late; but I know my Master and her brother would sigh   
and look at me oddly until I figured out why -- so I suppose I've got to   
figure it out before I say it to them. 

[as the family chagrin is set aside in a spontaneous return to the subject,   
simultaneously:] 

**Finrod**:   
About Melian -- I've been thinking--   
**Finarfin**:   
Haply else 'twere thy mother's-- 

[they both stop at once at the realization that the other is also speaking,   
and look at each other warily, waiting/indicating for the other to go on.   
Finarfin shakes his head a little, and after a second Finrod continues,   
a little more self-consciously] 

**Finrod**:   
If in fact Beren's Doom was to-- 

[he is cut off by the Princess of Doriath] 

**Luthien**: [intense exasperation]   
--Did he say that to you, too? Mablung told me that, what his last words   
were -- but it isn't true, it can't be, and if you think so then-- 

[Finrod makes hasty shushing gestures and she stops mid-rant with an   
apologetic Look] 

**Finrod**: [placatingly]   
Let's just assume, for the sake of argument, that Beren is right -- at   
least in part; that he was meant to recover the Light of the Trees from   
the Lord of Fetters, even if nothing went as it ideally should have.   
--Please note, cousin, I didn't say, "even if he bungled it." I don't   
think that any single one of us -- not even Elu Thingol -- is responsible   
for the scale of this fiasco, any more than any one of us-- 

[glancing round at his brothers, companions, and uncle] 

--is responsible for the failure of the Leaguer. Considering the level of   
Power you were up against, it's more than amazing you three succeeded in   
so far as you did. Beginning from that premise, ask yourself what Melian   
was supposed to do. 

[pause] 

**Luthien**:   
You mean in a Fate sense of "supposed," not "what was I supposed to do?"   
the way people usually mean when they say that. 

[he nods] 

Er . . . 

[she shakes her head impatiently] 

Finrod, I'm too tired for guessing games. 

**Finrod**:   
Well, if you were meant to help him -- because it's not in question that   
he couldn't have done it alone any more than, as it turned out, I could   
have -- then it would be Melian's duty as one of the loyal Powers to   
assist in the project to steal back the Silmarils. Right? 

**Nerdanel**: [passionately, shaking her head]   
Yet how should any parent -- any that's deserving of the name -- consent   
and moreover gladly thereto, that her child most beloved and so long   
reared and sheltered, now doth go afield and into most grievesome dangers,   
into fell perils and woes both certain and uncertain, nor e'er but restrain   
as she is able? 

**Ambassador**: [to Luthien]   
The lady has put it quaintly, yet as well as any might, my Princess. 

**Luthien**: [to Finrod]   
Now I'm going to sound very contrary -- but I'm going to agree. I don't   
like the thought of Mom having -- an ulterior duty of some sort, beyond   
to us -- we're her family after all! -- but that-- 

[shaking her head] 

--just sounds too -- too creepy. And if it is true-- 

[breaks off, biting her lip] 

**Eol**: [macabre glee]   
--It's pretty funny, if it is -- great Melian, daunted by nothing in the   
whole wide World, singlehandedly holding back the power of the Dark Lord,   
handing out bread and wisdom all these years for the grateful masses and   
her adoring husband -- and coming quite to pieces because with all her   
legendary foresight she wasn't prepared for her daughter taking after   
her -- and up with a travelling stranger. Who'd have thought it, Fate   
catching up with the runaway goddess at last, her thinking she'd done   
her divine duties by looking after the poor benighted savages and it not   
being what she'd thought at all. It's easy to do what you please, and   
fancy yourself virtuous, isn't it? Much harder when you have to give up   
something that really matters -- like your child. 

[Aredhel growls at him under her breath, gripping the hilt of her dagger as   
if about to hurl it at him] 

**Luthien**:   
Mom's not like that at all! 

**Eol**: [maddeningly patronizing]   
Well, of course you wouldn't see it, young demigoddess. 

**Teler Maid**: [aside, to the Guard nearest her]   
Has he truly killed someone once? 

**Third Guard**: [nodding]   
At least. 

[the Sea-Elf stares at Eol with spooked horror, covertly] 

**Ambassador**:   
Lord Eol, you wrong not only our Queen and King, but our entire people   
with your groundless mockery. 

**Eol**: [offensive]   
Yes, well, you always did know what board your bread was on, didn't you? 

[the Captain gestures covertly to his team, and four of the Ten get up and   
surround Thingol's kinsman promptly] 

**Captain**: [to Finrod and Luthien]   
How far into the floor did you want him? 

**Aredhel**:   
Hah! 

**Luthien**: [dispirited]   
Oh, just leave him alone -- his is just a warped version of what I was   
going to say. And it won't do him any good to beat him up, I'm afraid. 

[all of the Noldor shades present look faintly disappointed, as does the   
Doriathrin Ambassador, though the Teler Maid has only expressed alarm at   
the prospect, and Elenwe more amused, if slightly disapproving, than   
anything else] 

**Soldier**: [aside, wistfully]   
But he deserves it . . . 

**Luthien**: [sighing]   
Yes, but he doesn't seem to realize that, and I don't think it will   
help him to, either. 

[turning back to Finrod as the disappointed Elf-warriors leave her alienated   
cousin alone, with visible regret] 

Because if that's true -- not only is it creepy and disturbing, but then   
I'd have to feel sorry for her, too. And I know I said it felt like I was   
the only grown-up and sane Elf in Menegroth then, but I don't really want   
it to have been the case -- that I was more mature and responsible than   
Mom during all of this. Because that's what it would really mean, if it   
was right and proper for me to pity her for being in over her head and   
not able to cope. 

**Finrod**:   
I didn't say it was going to be a cheerful conclusion at all. I'm a little   
unsettled by the one I reached long ago and whose implications I'm still   
working out, that I was supposed to go to Middle-earth. 

[looking at his father intensely] 

In the Doomed sense of the word. 

[there is a moment of uncertain silence from his family; Huan lifts his head   
and gives Finrod an attentive Look] 

**Amarie**: [sharp]   
What, in the Song? 

[the Steward winces, and there is a general bracing of selves among Finrod's   
following as their sovereign gives his consort a long, cool Look in turn,   
before there is an intervention] 

**Elenwe**: [matter-of-fact]   
Most assuredly, such is th'import of thy lord his words. 

**Amarie**: [derisive]   
Oh, but there's an easy answer -- return to all reproach, that most   
pridefully declareth -- 'Twas Foredoomed so, wherefore I may bear no   
guilt in this--! 

**Aredhel**: [piqued aside]   
Didn't we hear all this when we left? Do we need more sanctimonious   
lecturing, really? 

[she goes back to knife-juggling with a bored expression, while the Apprentice   
listens with intent curiosity -- but no surprise or disapproval, apparently   
unaware that his non-reaction is noted with interest by various of the Ten] 

**Elenwe**:   
Far from, for still 'tis no answer to that which each must ask unto   
heart its inmost heart -- did I but follow "ought" unto Doom, else did   
I but Doom mine own self for aught of pride, else folly? --Still less   
what purpose should be served, by such a cross-grained mandate, nor   
whether it be fulfilled by deed, by undoing, else by failure. And there's   
but the least and eke the simplest portion of't. For if it be so, then   
must be asked thereafter -- what signifieth this, that the One should   
ordain such strife amongst his Children, nay, set those who strive to   
remain in tune at discords, each unto each the other? 

**Finrod**: [surprised]   
I didn't realize you'd thought this through as well-- 

**Elenwe**: [blandly]   
Some do spend these measureless hours in anger, some in despite, some   
in despair -- some had rather go busily to and fro making many diverse   
sorts of affairs and contentions, whilst some others rather do occupy   
the passing Ages in deep seekings after wisdom, the better to comprehend   
their Doom. 

**Finrod**: [mock affront]   
I'll have you know, I don't spend all my time dashing about starting trouble! 

**Elenwe**:   
There's a great change, assuredly. 

[Amarie breaks impatiently into their affectionate teasing] 

**Amarie**:   
Yet thou dost hold it within potentiality, no less, that deeds done   
against the will of Manwe, nay, in willful disrespect of, as well as   
all that's done by cause of such thereafter -- might yet be holy, and   
sanctioned by a higher Power oversetting yet? 

**Elenwe**:   
Aye. 

**Amarie**: [furious]   
Out on thee, cousin! 

[the Vanyar ghost looks up at the vaulted ceiling, her expression ironic] 

**Elenwe**:   
Not yet, I. 

[the living Elf-King leans forward, earnest rather than perturbed by this   
cosmic speculation] 

**Finarfin**:   
Nay, canst make plain unto me, what cause thou holdest warrant for thy   
certainty, beyond all those with which ye did reproach me heretofore? 

**Finrod**: [meaningful]   
If all else had gone the same, except only that I had not gone forward   
over the Grinding Ice, and all else had fallen out the same but for what   
had been changed by that-- 

[checking, frowning abstractedly] 

--which actually would have been fairly significant in the western part   
of the country, and very uncertain -- though I think that whatever the   
nominal state of things, Galadriel would have ended up running the House   
overseas, but that isn't what I'm talking about -- in any case-- 

[back to his serious tone as before distraction] 

--if I had not been there, who then should have met and dealt with Beor   
when they came into the eastern territories? 

[pause] 

**Finarfin**:   
Whom, then, meanst thou? 

**Finrod**:   
Feanor's children. If anyone. 

[longer, speculative silence] 

**Angrod**: [quiet, but upset]   
No. No, and no. 

**Finrod**:   
I don't mean that's the only. 

**Aegnor**:   
--But you think it's the most important. 

[his eldest brother does not deny it] 

Admit it -- you do. 

**Finrod**:   
Well -- yes. 

[their relatives regard this display of cryptic sibling communication with   
worry and confusion] 

**Aredhel**: [impatient]   
What are you three rattling on about there? 

**Apprentice**:   
I would have phrased it differently, but -- precisely. 

**Aglon**: [startling those who have forgotten he's present]   
He means that the most important Deed he accomplished in the course of   
the Age, was not to do with the War, nor in spreading the glories of our   
civilization throughout the disordered wilderness we found there, but   
simply this -- that he should be the one to discover the Followers, and   
not my lords' brothers. 

[fiercely, to Finrod] 

--Is that so? 

[pause] 

**Finrod**:   
Essentially, though I'd also phrase it somewhat otherwise. 

**Aglon**: [shaking his head, his eyes fixed on the Elf-King's]   
No. I meant -- do you still believe it, now, after -- after what was done   
to you? --In perfect honesty? 

**Finrod**:   
Oh, yes. More so than ever, that it was my Work to find the Secondborn,   
and lead them, to the knowledge of the West, at least. 

[to his lawful relatives] 

Something set me in the Eastern Marches in the proper season, in that   
year of all years, where I had no reason to be then rather than a year   
before, or ten years after; something called me to follow the sunlight   
on the distant mountainsides, to yearn more to see the way the fading   
day should change the lands before me than for the cheerful company of   
my own kind -- though it seemed no more than the truth of the old saying,   
that every bit of countryside should be viewed between the ears of a horse,   
until I heard the singing. --Everything else which I did, or helped in   
doing, someone else of us could have done, or did. 

[to Luthien, quietly] 

Only I failed there, too -- and far worse, having so much more by way of   
resources at my command, than Beren ever could be considered to have done. 

[very deliberately she takes his hands in her own, and one after the other   
raises them to her lips while he blinks away tears] 

**Luthien**: [sad]   
I keep forgetting, that you've lost Men you loved too -- that it isn't   
just me. 

[she turns to look now at Aegnor, who flinches under her gaze] 

**Aegnor**: [involuntary honesty]   
Don't -- please, don't -- I'd rather you hate me than pity me, cousin. 

**Luthien**: [shaking her head]   
I'm sorry, I can't help it. Even if I wanted to.   


* * *

**SCENE V.x**

  
[Elsewhere: the Dark Land]   
  
[the mortal shade is in the same pose as before, but still now, and relaxed,   
not taut with agonized helplessness -- he lies blinking on the sands, utterly   
exhausted, while She Who Mourns still kneels behind him. Now she lifts him   
up to a half-sitting position, and holds to his lips a shallow bowl made of   
a crystal so pure that it, and the water it contains, give a prismatic   
reflection (sfx) even in this small amount of light, supporting him while   
he drinks with desperate urgency. At last he raises his head to see his   
rescuer--] 

**Beren**: [hoarse]   
Thank you-- 

[--but no one is there. As he slowly looks around, still half-dazed, he sees   
only swirling mists in a gradually-brightening but still very dim light, in   
which no shapes nor structures can be discerned. The ground is also pale now,   
the almost-colorless, winter-bleached grass revealed after the snows have   
gone . . .] 

* * *

**SCENE V.xi**

  
[the Hall]   
  
**Luthien**:   
It is sort of funny that they did it to keep me safe, when you think about   
what the consequences were. I mean-- 

[fighting a grim smile] 

--it isn't as if I was particularly safe, walking myself down the trunk, or   
as if given a choice between sending someone out quite alone and going with   
at least a company of warriors, you'd think that alone was preferable. 

**Finrod**:   
Well, I -- don't think they expected you were going to do something like   
that, really. 

**Luthien**:   
Why ever not? I'd been saying I was going to run away and find Beren -- that's   
why they locked me up, after all, wasn't it? So what would give them the   
slightest impression that punishing me that way would make me give up? 

**Finrod**: [biting his lip]   
I'm pretty sure that Elu didn't think you could, or else he wouldn't have   
been so careless. 

**Luthien**:   
Well, it was lucky for me that he underestimated me, but-- 

**Finrod**: [quietly]   
I'm not defending him-- 

**Luthien**: [not stopping]   
--I really don't see why Dad thought I would be more inclined to agree with   
him if he insulted me-- 

**Nerdanel**:   
Nay, an erring slight be else than insult, in truth. 

**Luthien**:   
What about calling me insane? And deluded? We consider those insults back   
home where I come from. 

**Nerdanel**: [undaunted by sarcasm]   
It hingeth upon purpose and intent alike, th'import of description, so it   
be merest declaration of percievéd truth, otherwise of scathe. 

**Luthien**:   
He called me stupid -- he called me a brainless baby who didn't know what   
I was talking about, didn't know what lay outside the borders of the country   
and that wasn't courage, that was just my ignorance talking when I said I   
was willing to face the Outside -- he said I took for granted everything I'd   
been given and I was a selfish, vindictive brat who didn't appreciate what   
they were doing for me -- he said I didn't deserve to be treated like an   
adult since I wasn't acting like one-- 

[she stops, too impassioned to go on in an orderly fashion] 

**Finrod**: [raising his eyebrows]   
--As Beren would say, --Hoo boy. 

[he shakes his head regretfully; Nerdanel grimaces, inclining her head in   
acquiescence] 

**Elenwe**:   
--Scathing, aye, verily. 

**Luthien**:   
Then there was the bit when I said, "what if you were a prisoner of the   
Enemy, what if you'd got caught and were strung up on his Gates or in his   
dungeons, wouldn't you expect Mom would come after you to rescue you then?"   
and he said, "I'm sure your mother would have the good sense to put her   
duty to all of you over personal considerations and not risk either herself   
or the kingdom on a mad and hopeless venture," and I said but Fingon and   
he raised his voice to me--! 

[loud enough to make people jump] 

--And what's more, we both knew perfectly well it wasn't true!! 

**Ambassador**:   
L-- Highness, he only wished to protect you, for your own sake-- 

**Luthien**: [biting]   
Well, he went about it in the worst way possible, didn't he, then? 

[her compatriot cannot answer her, but another attempts to] 

**Finarfin**:   
Aye. That, in truth, none might e'er deny. --Yet lettest thou nor cease   
to bear in mind, that elders be but Eldar, e'en as their offspring, and   
subject no less than more unto equal passions, to the world's storms and   
the heart's disquiet, and to wrath, and inconstancy, even as to the over-   
mastering pride, that durst not yield concession of any, lest smallest   
surrender be presage to the all; and willfulness doth ever raise the cry   
of --Willful! -- as 'twere a mirrored shield to turn back just rebuke. 

[with a sweeping gesture, looking at his sons even as he addresses her] 

--For hard indeed, and surpasseth measure, to be held unto reckoning by   
one subject, for fealty, and if 'tis so, how much more so when him that   
challengeth is child and student, younger in years, in knowing, and in   
deed, and holding all those -- or so it seemeth -- but from one's self,   
as a gem's light inwrought by the artisan; for so easily and swift do we   
forget, that neither earth, nor holy fire, are of our own sole making,   
nor aught but gift to us that we might help to shape it, nor for our own   
solitary pleasure, but that all the world derive the blesséd good of it. 

[Luthien looks down, pensive and troubled at his words; but they are taken   
differently by another] 

**Finrod**: [lightly, in a tone of false patience]   
Yes, I'm arrogant, I took the gifts you gave me and squandered them and   
encouraged my siblings in pernicious rebellion -- and I really didn't   
need to hear it all over again, Father. 

[the living Elf-King does not say anything in his own defense] 

**Teler Maid**: [aside, uncertain]   
But that is not at all what he meant . . . 

**Captain**:   
Sire -- think about what Lord Finarfin has said. 

[Finrod turns and glares at him] 

--Use your head, my lord, not only your heart. As if you were listening   
to any other speaker, at court or in the realm. 

[pause] 

**Finrod**: [his voice shaking slightly]   
I can't be dispassionate about it. Not after what he said there -- do you   
know what he said to me then-- 

**Captain**: [apologetic]   
--Well, yes, I was standing about this far away at the time-- 

[he gestures about a yard and a half apart with his hands; Finrod goes on,   
talking right over him] 

**Finrod**: [stifled, almost unable to speak as he goes on]   
He called me ungrateful. He called me a traitor, and a liar as well. He   
accused me of making my way to power through the blood of my family. He   
asked me how long I'd wanted to seize authority from him, while pretending   
to be on his side in all our House debates--!! He said he hoped I would   
lose everything the way he'd lost it, the loyalty of our people the way   
I was taking it from him, have my own flesh and blood turn on me as well,   
and leave me in the same desolation as I was leaving him, before the Doom   
of the gods fell on me. 

[Finarfin buries his face in his hands, bowing his head as both Amarie and   
Nerdanel turn, and with the Sea-Mew, stare at him in shock] 

--Well, his wish came true. 

[snorting furiously] 

He couldn't have cut me worse than if he'd taken your spear and run it   
through my heart-- 

**Captain**: [insistent]   
Yes, but he's apologizing-- 

[Luthien nods, her expression earnest agreement, but Finrod is too upset   
to notice] 

**Finrod**: [stiffly]   
I didn't hear a "sorry" in there anywhere. 

**Captain**:   
My lord -- only consider how long and complicated your own apology to   
the Powers was, given that there were parts of what you'd done that you   
didn't regret, nor feel that you ought to regret, either. 

**Finrod**: [very brittle tone]   
Even you, now? 

**Captain**: [quietly]   
What do you think, Sire? 

[long pause] 

**Finrod**:   
Sorry. 

[he reaches out his hand to clasp the Captain's] 

--Curse or not, it all served one good purpose, notwithstanding -- to show   
me which were my true friends. 

[simultaneous, amused contempt]   
**Eol**:   
--Milksop.   
**Aredhel**:   
You're such a loser, Ingold. 

[Finarfin raises his tear-stained countenance in a stern glare at his niece,   
while his brother steels himself to rebuke his daughter and the Warden of   
Aglon looks at the couple with a conflicted dismay] 

**Aglon**: [aside]   
--Is that how I appear? 

**Angrod**:   
Aredhel! 

**Aredhel**:   
What? 

[to Finrod] 

You know you let your people walk all over you-- 

**Either Angrod or Aegnor**: [not quite aside]   
--But not his consort-- 

[the Noldor Princess turns quickly trying to catch who it was] 

**Aredhel**: [dangrously]   
--What was that? 

[the Princes both look equally innocent, or guilty; Eol, contrarily, frowns   
at them for slighting his wife, but before any of their respective kindred   
can say anything more in reproach] 

**Soldier**: [aloud to his comrades]   
We could just bore a deep hole in the floor and fling them both in. 

**Second Guard**:   
But Lady Luthien said not to. 

**Fourth Guard**:   
She didn't say anything about the White Lady. 

**Second Guard**:   
--That's true. 

[their conversation arouses both appalled dismay and involuntary laughter   
from the lawful Eldar] 

**Warrior**:   
She only said not to pound him. That doesn't rule out pushing him, does it? 

**Third Guard**:   
But Ar-Feiniel is the High King's scion. Are we allowed to do things to her? 

**Ranger**:   
We just won't ask. So what if we get in trouble after? 

[pause -- glancing at the late High King of the Noldor in Beleriand] 

Besides, I don't think he'll mind it that much, even if he thinks he ought to. 

[Fingolfin winces and looks at the ceiling] 

**Aredhel**: [standing up, furious]   
I will not stay here and be insulted like this. 

**Eol**: [unfazed by any of it, with a casual wave of his hand]   
Don't worry, darling, I'll be here waiting for you -- before or after   
your ill-bred countrymen have indulged their natural inclinations for   
bloodshed. 

[she glares at him and sits down again in sulky quiet] 

**Apprentice**: [worried frown]   
Don't you think you really ought to be encouraging your followers to   
solve problems without recourse to violence? 

**Captain**: [serious]   
They just did. At least for the moment. 

**Finrod**: [partly serious lament]   
Why couldn't I have been born to some quiet, obscure, uncomplicated   
family with no ambitions and no connections and nothing to do but   
employ my skills as I pleased? 

[Finarfin, struggling to control his tears, gives a short involuntary laugh   
at that] 

**Fingolfin**: [entirely serious lament]   
Why could I not have been blessed with servants possessing the intelligence   
and courage to call me down and restrain me, instead of the agreement and   
recklessness I mistook for the former virtues? 

**Finrod**: [snapping right out of humorous self-pity]   
Because you didn't choose people of that caliber to counsel you, uncle. 

**Luthien**: [troubled]   
That's an awfully cold thing to say, Finrod. 

**Fingolfin**:   
--Yet the truth, I fear. 'Tis always easiest to choose those that but agree,   
and that enthusiastically, than those discouraging sorts who point out every   
possible reason not to follow the desired course, and what the possible   
consequences of any action are, and the likelihood of the least pleasant of   
them to occur as a result, nor is it particularly pleasant to surround one's   
self with those who do not hesitate to name your faults, as soon or sooner   
than to sing your praises, and still less when there is no question it be   
done from loyalty, not jealousy. 

[he bows his head to the Steward, who smiles wryly at this unsought praise] 

**Finrod**: [resigned]   
Edrahil, is there anything else you'd add to that? 

**Steward**: [sadly]   
Little -- save to remind you, my lord, that it requires two to hold converse,   
and words which were said did not go unanswered that Night. --As you yourself   
in recollected times recall, and have regretted that which you said in turn,   
which was little less in harshness. 

**Finrod**: [dark sarcasm]   
Little? 

[his father makes a hurried gesture] 

**Finarfin**:   
--Nay, 'tis no matter-- 

**Luthien**: [slowly]   
What other sorts of things did you say to your father, besides calling him   
irresolute and weak? 

[her cousin starts to answer -- stops, looks away in shame, tries again and   
shakes his head] 

**Finrod**:   
I -- can't we just say it was -- in anger, and let it go at that? 

**Luthien**: [shrugging]   
If you're willing to leave it like an open chasm between you. 

**Finrod**:   
You don't-- 

[checks again -- helplessly] 

Luthien, I -- I can't. I'm -- not proud of what I said. 

**Luthien**:   
But too proud to repeat it. 

[pause] 

You'll have to address it someday -- which you must have known, unless you   
stay here forever really. 

[Angrod and Aegnor shift restlessly, avoiding each other's eyes, and everyone   
else's] 

**Finrod**: [sighing]   
--Yes. And yes. But I thought I would have a lot longer to put it off.   
--Like 'Tari. 

**Finarfin**: [earnest]   
'Tis no matter, my son. 

**Finrod**: [looking up, his gaze fierce]   
But it is. She's quite right. And I'm a coward, and-- 

[overlapping] 

**Finarfin**: [amazed aside]   
Thou?!   
**Luthien**:   
You, a coward? 

**Finrod**:   
--I don't want to revisit that -- that Darkening, I'd much rather pretend   
it didn't happen, just like you -- but it remains a yawning abyss which   
will swallow up all attempts to bridge it over, unfilled. If -- if you   
chose to remind me of my words, Father, that would be one thing, but I --   
cannot overcome my shame at them to utter them again, even to unsay them,   
not even though most people here heard them the first time. 

[Luthien looks at him seriously] 

**Luthien**:   
But he won't. You can See that as clearly as I. 

**Finrod**: [bleak]   
And I can't. 

**Captain**: [intense]   
Then set another the task in your stead, Sir. 

[Finrod turns and stares at him with uncertainty and worry] 

**Finrod**:   
That -- is no office for a friend. 

**Captain**:   
If not a friend -- then for whom? 

[after a moment Finrod nods assent, tautly, but looking somehow relieved that   
it's taken out of his hands, as does his father] 

I'll make report of you, for you, to both of you, my lords, and do you tell   
me if recollection fails me. 

[Finrod puts his head down on his forearms, hiding his face] 

**Finrod**: [muffled]   
Only not all of it, for Nienna's sake-- 

**Captain**: [grim smile]   
No, I don't think there's any need for all six-hundred exchanges less ten   
with or without repeats. The last one is enough-- 

[he pauses, gathers himself and goes on in a cold, clipped, ironic cadence   
recognizably familiar from Act II, the close of the Council, despite the   
archaic phrasing of this debate] 

"Nay, then, sir, do thou go back in duteous release, winking at thine   
own cowardice, and name thyself faithful and hold thyself high as Oiolosse   
in thine own esteem, and thou will't -- but thou shalt ken, e'en as we,   
aye down all thy safe unthreatened changeless hours, that selfish and   
corroded center of thy spirit, which hath feigned a pious remorse at which   
offense nor thou nor we did e'er commit, nor might have circumvented,   
saving only had we forgone all prudence, and hasted e'en so rashly as our   
blood-reckless kin, and so there's naught of reason in yon self-blaming   
for Swanhaven so sad incarnadined -- no more than in thine accusatory   
claims upon me. Indeed, 'tis well hast ceded up thy ring withal, for   
certes thou hast no claim longer upon thy folk that now, saving but for   
we that art 'most willfully rebel 'gainst the gods,' do wander without   
guide or guard to their defence and ordering. Desert them, in their darkest   
need, my father, and name thyself virtuous thereby, in empty Tirion -- and   
be that thy consolation, as our duty must needs be ours." 

"Deceive thyself, as thou wouldst, O Wise Elf, but do thou rest thee assuréd,   
thou dost not hide thy falsehood its truth from mine eyes; nor will I pardon   
thee, nay though the Lady of Sorrows in her own most high self should weep   
for thy pains, that hast rent apart nor only our House, but my heart withal,   
stealing from me all my children that thy mastery be complete--" 

[he stops, as distraught and shaken as the Kings he has been quoting] 

--I'm sorry. 

[shaking his head] 

I can't do the rest either. 

**Nerdanel**: [mournful]   
There's none may wound another so bitter-keen nor killing deep, as them   
that long in love enwoven dwelt, and afterwhiles be riven-- 

[it is Luthien's turn to put her arm around Finrod's shoulders in a gesture   
of comfort which is severely lacking by the looks on the faces of all gathered   
there; even the Lord Warden and the embattled spouses appear somewhat subdued   
at the recollected display of familial disintegration they have just witnessed.   
Finrod raises his head to face his father, even as the Captain rests his forehead   
on his hand, looking unwell and upset -- the Steward quietly urges Huan to get up   
and go around behind the dais to his friend, where the Hound crouches down behind   
him like a sphinx, leaning his jaws on the Captain's shoulder. (The Sea-elf, who   
was moving to make a similar gesture, stops and frowns at the Lord of Dogs.)] 

**Finrod**: [with effort]   
I regret . . . all of my words to you at Araman . . . except those which   
which were true, and remain so. 

[Finarfin doesn't say anything, just Looks at him] 

We couldn't have prevented the Kinslaying, and-- 

[frowning] 

--it was our duty to lead, and that fact of duty . . . all my consolation   
hereafter. 

[silence; Amarie sighs and shakes her head dispiritedly] 

**Finarfin**: [evenly]   
And I do ken full well thou wert no rebel miscreant nor rival unto me, my   
wiseling, and would unsay my charges of that coldest hour. Canst thou yet   
pardon me, of thy pity, for that cruel anger and yet this last, the which   
I vow indeed be last, nor only latest--? 

[pause] 

**Finrod**: [softly]   
I do, sir.   


* * *

**SCENE V.xii**

  
[Elsewhere -- the brightening mists]   
  
[Beren looks around in the swirling grayness, wary and cautious as he rises   
slowly from the matted turf, but in a very hyper-alert way, not able to see   
what or where anything else might be. He whirls, as if hearing something, and   
then turns back as though glimpsing something from the corner of his eye,   
standing very still, taut as a bowstring -- and then someone reaches out of   
the fog to tap him lightly on the shoulder, with one quick finger, pulling   
back like a playful cat. Beren spins around, making a completely instinctive   
and utterly futile attempt to draw nonexistent sword with equally absent hand   
before flinging himself down and aside in a defensive roll, coming up in a   
crouch ready to fend off the person who has accosted him as best he can.] 

[He is not prepared, however, for peals of laughter, or an iridescent-robed   
figure too overcome at his reaction to speak for several moments, or even to   
stand straight. It is Vana, Orome's wife, but not as we have seen her before   
while watching the Loom: now she is The Ever-Young, the embodiment of Springtime,   
and although she is not much taller than Luthien, she is incomparably more   
beautiful and creepy -- for her visible manifestation changes from moment to   
moment, flowers and petals appearing and blending to form the semblance of her   
gown, her jewelry, and even perhaps her hair and features, so that the Maiden   
of Flowers appears not so much as an illusion, but as a glimpse of something   
far more complex and timeless than any single image could convey.] 

**Beren**: [sharply]   
That wasn't funny. 

**Vana**:   
Yes, it was. 

[she claps her hands delightedly] 

It was the most ridiculous thing I've seen all season. Come on, haven't you   
lain around long enough? 

[she darts forward, like a bird, and grabs his hand, tugging him up and spinning   
him halfway around as she keeps going, then releases him to stand and look at him   
critically.] 

--What are you staring at me for? You've seen me often enough. 

[while he is standing there open-mouthed, she darts off into the mist again and   
vanishes, leaving Beren shaking his head in bewilderment.] 

**Beren**:   
But who-- 

[she reappears behind him again and startles him by tugging on a strand of his hair] 

Aah--! 

[he turns and gives her an accusing look -- but she is not there, having turned   
with him like a ballerina and stayed out of his angle of vision -- and then taps   
him on the shoulder again. This time he stays still, statue-like, as though frozen,   
while a long moment passes. Finally she sighs in exasperation and comes around to   
face him.] 

**Vana**: [sulky]   
You're no fun. --Why not? 

**Beren**:   
Um. --If you haven't noticed, I'm dead. 

**Vana**:   
--So? Lots of people are. 

[she circles him again, in a very stylized movement, as if she were practicing   
dance-steps, seeming to ignore him -- then pounces again:] 

So why are you so grim and dreary all the time? You didn't used to be. 

**Beren**: [dry]   
How much time you got? This could take a while. 

[she waves her hand dismissively] 

**Vana**:   
You don't need to tell me about how your life was ruined by Morgoth several   
times over, everybody already knows all about that. I'm talking about now. 

**Beren**:   
It still happened. 

**Vana**:   
But you can't do anything about it now. --Can you? 

**Beren**: [getting stubborn-angry]   
It's still happening. Everywhere I go -- everyone is out to get me. It's   
not right. 

**Vana**: [disbelieving]   
Really? 

**Beren**:   
Yeah-- 

**Vana**: [halting in mid-pirouette]   
Everyone? 

[she gives him a very piercing Look from the corners of her eyes and waits until   
he looks down first.] 

**Beren**:   
Not everyone. But-- 

**Vana**:   
So why are you worrying? Why don't you enjoy the time you have now? 

[she darts around him again, he turning this time to try to keep facing her] 

**Beren**: [frustrated]   
But you don't-- 

[he breaks off in open-mouthed astonishment, seeing that the turf in the little   
circle around them is now lush and green as far as can be seen into the haze] 

You're -- Are you--? 

[but gets no further, as she has swung around the other way and caught hold of   
his shoulder, spinning him back off balance] 

**Vana**:   
You used to know how. But you've forgotten. 

[frowning] 

You've forgotten how to dance. How can you be fit for my sisters if you   
can't dance? 

**Beren**:   
Wha-- 

**Vana**: [impatiently]   
Come on, you don't want to stay here, do you? This is boring! 

**Beren**: [gesturing to the fog]   
But you can't see where you're going in this-- 

[she moves about behind him again and surprises him by covering his eyes with   
her hands for an instant] 

**Vana**:   
What does it matter, if you think there's nowhere to go? 

**Beren**:   
There isn't. Not for me at least. --Except away. 

**Vana**: [appearing in front of him again and folding her arms]   
Do you have any idea how tiresome you're being? Do you want me to leave you   
here alone? 

**Beren**: [blurting it out]   
No! 

[covering] 

I mean -- I'm not trying to be rude-- 

**Vana**: [tossing her head]   
I'd hate to see you try, then. 

[long pause] 

**Beren**:   
I'm sorry. You're right, I don't know how to live anymore -- Tinuviel gave   
that back to me, every time, but I've lost it again --for good, I'm afraid. 

**Vana**: [scoffs]   
Oh, not for good. 

[she circles behind him and pulls his hair again] 

Besides, you've not tried looking, yet. 

[he moves away in annoyance] 

**Beren**:   
What's the point, though? Really? I'm asking -- if it's just going to be   
yanked away from me again-- 

**Vana**: [flatly]   
This is so boring. --Misery, anguish, and world-sorrow. If it weren't for   
her, I swear -- it isn't as though I haven't things to do, you know, -- and   
I was already very put out with you for making Tav' so unhappy-- 

**Beren**: [completely confused]   
Wh--what? 

**Vana**: [shaking her head impatiently]   
Never mind, it's boring, and it's over. I told them I would, anyway. Come   
on, I'll lead the way-- 

[she reaches out her hand to him, but he draws back] 

**Vana**:   
Don't you trust me? 

[he shakes his head, half-smiling in a kind of amused dismay] 

**Beren**: [completely honest]   
No-- 

**Vana**: [sulking]   
Not even a little? 

[she puts her hands on his shoulders and looks at him very seriously] 

I promise I won't lead you into a green field of algae over a quagmire.   
--I couldn't have, anyway: you saw the waterflies above the surface and   
heard the peepers and knew, as your pursuers did not. 

**Beren**: [sounding confused]   
No, I did that -- the patrol that morning-- 

**Vana**: [snippy]   
You made the marsh thaw? The frogs and bugs start mating? Really. 

[she gives him a narrow Look] 

**Beren**:   
No, that wasn't -- I mean-- 

[without warning she spins him around and darts forward to end up standing in   
front of him again, staring at him intensely] 

**Vana**:   
Have I ever led you wrong? 

**Beren**:   
? ? ? 

**Vana**:   
--Or would you rather still be wandering in the wood, your voice still frozen   
in your heart's midwinter? 

[while he is still struggling to understand, she lunges for his hand again and   
pulls him, urging:] 

Come on -- race you! 

[he resists, not actively, but anchoring her as she flits back and forth before   
him like a bird on a thin twig or a narcissus on a windy day, pulling him along   
behind her] 

**Beren**:   
Where to? 

**Vana**:   
The top of the hill. 

**Beren**: [looking around at the pale swirling mists around them]   
Which? 

**Vana**: [as she draws him up the beginning of a slope, increasing her pace]   
This one! 

**Beren**:   
But how can you not win, if you're leading me? 

**Vana**:   
Figure it out, silly! 

[he jerks his chin defiantly at that, and something determined and a little   
crazed comes into his expression, as he tries to keep pace with her. Just as   
they are reaching the crest of the hill he swings her around, using the slope   
to assist him, so that he is now leading, and as her speed carries her in an   
arc that helps spin them both up, he stops her, catching her with his right   
arm around her backwards-leaning waist before she can fall, as though they   
were dancing partners in a sculptured tableau.] 

**Beren**: [softly]   
I win-- 

**Vana**: [also whispering]   
Yes-- 

[For a long, long instant they stare at each other, the Ever-Young with a   
mysterious smile, Beren with a kind of amazement at his own daring: slowly,   
almost as if in a trance, he lifts his hand to touch her hair, her cheek,   
her lips, as lightly as if he were touching a wild bird, while she smiles   
up from his hold. It is a very intense, very strange moment -- which is   
promptly broken as the precarious balance of their pose is lost and they   
topple onto the grass, Vana with a wild shriek of laughter, he with a cheerful   
shout of alarm, and she leaps up, tugging him to his feet with a little   
impatient bounce in her step.] 

**Beren**: [laughing, his eyes sparkling]   
--I won. 

[she nods, just as gleeful] 

**Vana**: [brightly]   
Now you must pay the forfeit! 

[he thinks she's teasing him] 

**Beren**:   
For winning? 

**Vana**:   
Of course! 

**Beren**: [uncertain if she's joking]   
What forfeit? 

**Vana**: [raising her eyebrows]   
What does it matter? You cannot undo what you've done. Or can you? 

**Beren**:   
Well, no, but-- 

**Vana**:   
Then it doesn't matter. You must pay the price. 

**Beren**: [still hoping it's a joke]   
So -- what does a goddess want from me? 

**Vana**: [offhand]   
Your sight. 

**Beren**: [dumbfounded]   
You-- 

[shaking his head] 

--you can't ask that of me! 

**Vana**: [brightly]   
Of course I can. 

[she pirouettes carelessly, ending up back in front of him, and he steps away   
in alarm] 

**Beren**:   
Why? 

**Vana**:   
Why not? 

**Beren**: [increasing panic]   
What good will it do you, to take my -- my sight? 

[she only shrugs, and darts around him, her lightheartedness seeming suddenly   
very sinister] 

**Vana**:   
Pay up. 

[he backs away again, and she keeps following, with an erratic, half-dancing   
motion, smiling the whole time] 

**Beren**:   
But this isn't right-- 

**Vana**:   
You won. 

**Beren**:   
By a trick-- 

**Vana**:   
And? Haven't you always? 

[he takes another step backwards -- and into something dark and solid behind   
him, like the wall of a tower in the fog, and she steps in close, with no   
more room to retreat, definitely invading of personal space. Intense:] 

Will you disavow your deeds, then? 

[pause -- he stares back at her, not looking away] 

**Beren**:   
Never. 

[she reaches out and takes his face in her hands. He flinches, closing his   
eyes, and she kisses him hard and hungrily on the lips. The Power steps   
away suddenly, reeling a little as though dizzy, her eyes wide in shock] 

**Vana:**   
Oh! . . . oh . . . I never guessed . . . I never guessed you saw us that   
way . . . --No wonder my sisters love you so much! 

[he looks at her, blinking, dazed, and she laughs] 

Remember what I told you! 

[sfx -- vanishes into a spread of mixed flowers rising around him] 

**Beren**: [stunned]   
I guess that means all of it . . . --as if I could ever forget! 

[he turns to see what he fetched up against, and looks up -- and up -- to the   
black column rising behind him into the mist, wide as a tower and just as tall.   
Half unbelieving, he looks across through the brightening mist to where another   
dark, shrouded outline can be seen.] 

**Beren**: [hushed]   
The Corollaire -- 

[he raises his hand to touch the bark of Telperion reverently, and the mist   
is cleared away in a sudden breeze, revealing not only the dead Trees fully   
but the mountains all around in the distance and right here, the sweep of   
land below leading out to the hill with the white city of Tirion on its crest   
and out through the Pass, a glimpse of coast and blue horizon far off. (Note:   
as the light changes from foggy pallor to the clarity of dawn, everything in   
the scene is awash in radiant morning color -- including Beren: no longer   
ghostly, his worn cast-offs and tatters richly glowing in tones of sienna   
and umber, granite and kingfisher blue of his Elven knight's cloak, the browns   
and grays no more drab than burnished wood or rain-wet leaves against the sky;   
this remains so throughout the entire Corollaire sequence.)] 

--Is this real? 

[There is a sound behind him of wind in branches, not terribly loud,   
the prolonged rustle of a species whose leaves are very lightly hinged   
to their twigs, such as birches -- he turns again, and sees -- a beech   
tree, unbelievably tall, its leaves shimmering in the morning, where   
there was none as they raced up the hill, directly between the Two,   
and he falls on his knees, bowing his head in homage.] 

--My Lady-- 

**Yavanna**: [voice heard as camera focuses on Beren]   
Rise, my Champion -- it's a little late for such formality, don't   
you think? 

* * *

**SCENE V.xiii**

[the Hall] 

[Luthien is looking down at the stretch of dais between her and the more   
orderly part of her audience with rather a bemused expression as her cousin   
and his foremost counselor kneel on the stones building a large map of the   
sort first seen in Act II, an illusion of topography and vegetation which   
looks both like an ambitious architectural model made of silvery light, and   
a very lumpy glowing carpet. By their expressions, their living friends and   
relations find it at least as peculiar as she does.] 

**Finrod**:   
So did you come out of Doriath here, or further up, here? 

**Luthien**:   
Hmm . . . I'm not really sure -- it didn't look anything like that when   
I was there, after all. It was sort of looming over me, you see-- 

**Finrod**: [briskly interrupting]   
Well, let's turn it this way instead-- 

**Steward**: [stopping him]   
I don't think that is going to help, meaning no disrespect to the Lady,   
since-- 

**Finrod**: [cutting him off with a frown]   
You set Watchtower Number Ten in the wrong place. 

[pointing to a section] 

**Steward**: [looking hard at the map]   
I did not. 

**Finrod**:   
I should know, Edrahil, I put it there myself in the first place. 

**Steward**:   
The tower, indeed, my lord -- but surely not the hill? That did predate   
our arrival in Beleriand, I believe. 

**Finrod**: [exasperated]   
That's what I meant. The hill is too far west. 

**Steward**:   
Far from it. 

**Luthien**: [mildly]   
You should know, none of that is anywhere near where I was. 

**Finrod**: [pointing]   
Look. It should be a league and a half from Eleven, but that would put   
it right there-- 

**Luthien**:   
So does it really matter if it's all correct? 

**Finrod**:   
--which is in the middle of the Narog! 

**Steward**:   
And I might point out, were I so inclined, that 'twas not I who drew the   
watercourses. 

[Luthien shrugs and gives up, somewhat bemused; the lawful Eldar look rather   
dismayed. Camera shift to the back ranks of the steps, where the Elf of   
Alqualonde is scowling at the Lord of Dogs, who keeps giving her worried,   
eye-rolling glances over the Captain's back, the latter having his head down   
resting on his arms] 

**Captain**: [without looking up]   
Please stop glaring at Huan, Sea-Mew. 

**Teler Maid**:   
How do you know that I am, if you attend not? 

**Captain**:   
You're making him whine and twitch. 

[lifting up his head and looking at her] 

It's not necessary, is it? He already knows you don't forgive him, and   
there are more appropriate targets for your anger present. 

[pause] 

**Teler Maid**:   
But I am afraid of that one, still, when I am not too angry to recollect it. 

[she looks across them at the Lord Warden, and back down again hastily, and   
shudders] 

**Captain**:   
But not of Huan. 

[she gives him a sidelong Look but doesn't reply, while the Hound rolls his eyes   
in doggish worry towards her] 

**Teler Maid**:   
I will not make him bark again. 

[Huan gives a hesitant tail thump; she tosses her hair] 

It is much too noisy. 

**Steward**:   
No, Sire, I did not make it too long -- every wretched ell of it that I ever   
travelled, and no more, 'twixt there and Teiglin! 

[Finrod makes an impatient exclamation and gesture over the map, while Luthien   
watches them in tolerant amusement] 

**Teler Maid**: [worried frown]   
Why do they quarrel over such a small matter now? 

**Captain**:   
Because it is a small, unimportant matter, and why did you come home and   
snap at my sister whenever you'd gone down to hang about on the steps of   
the Mindon and been snubbed by Edrahil? 

[pause] 

**Finrod**: [disgruntled]   
What scale are we using, anyway? I don't think it's the same overall. 

**Steward**:   
The scale is irrelevant, so long as it maintains internal consistency. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Because Suli' did not mind it and I was cross and joyless. 

**Captain**:   
Well then, there's your answer. 

**Finrod**:   
Well, exactly -- and how can we tell that if we don't know what it is? 

**Angrod**: [mostly aside]   
Please, just stop it, would you? 

**Steward**: [patronizing]   
Very well, Majesty -- choose a measure and set a distance, and we'll   
refigure it from there. 

**Luthien**: [rueful, to her relations near and distant, living and dead]   
--I don't think it took me this long to cross the Talath Dirnen on foot. 

**Teler Maid**:   
You are cross and joyless as well. 

**Captain**:   
True. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Why did you do it, when you would not ere now? 

**Captain**: [shrugging]   
Situation changed. They do that, you know. 

[meanwhile the Doriathrin Lord has gotten involved in correcting the map, which   
is getting bigger by the moment] 

**Ambassador**:   
--No, your Majesty, my lord, I must declare you are both wrong, in setting   
the Road so nigh to Malduin there . . . 

**Teler Maid**:   
But you said you would not, and it would do more harm than good! 

**Captain**: [with another small shrug]   
It needed to be done, and no one else could in that particular given   
circumstance. Command responsibility, it's called. 

**Teler Maid**:   
But you did not manage it at all well. 

**Aegnor**: [to the ceiling]   
Surely no one's surprised by that--! 

[the Captain winces; as the Sea-elf contrarily turns a fierce glare on her liege   
lady's son, the latter's brother elbows him sharply in the ribs. Aegnor gives   
Angrod a glare in turn, but Angrod stares his sibling down, or at least away.] 

**Teler Maid**. [more subdued]   
I am sorry. But it is true nonetheless. 

[the map has now crept along almost the entire bottom tier of the dais, up to   
Angband, and Fingolfin is correcting their placement of the northwestern mountain   
ranges, while Luthien looks on with increasing ironic humour, others of the Ten   
offer suggestions, Finarfin and Nerdanel at least find it fascinating, as does   
the Apprentice (though Elenwe does not seem much interested), Aredhel is sulking,   
and Eol is pretending he isn't interested in it at all. (Amarie is watching Finrod   
with a cold and quite expressionless countenance.)] 

**Captain**: [nods]   
Nonetheless -- it was enough. 

[sighing] 

Edrahil couldn't do it -- that would have made things far worse, even if he   
had been there for it all and not off agonizing over whether he dared set foot   
on what was, when you come right down to it, just a very deep lot of water on   
top of an even deeper lot of water. 

**Finrod**:   
That should be a little more to the right-- 

**Fingolfin**: [strained]   
Nephew, I do not tell you where your capital city was. 

**Finrod**:   
--Because you don't know-- 

**Fingolfin**: [smoothly]   
Nor would I, if I did. 

**Teler Maid**: [in a tone of quiet scorn]   
It is so foolish, that he does fear the Sea. 

[as the Captain gives her a level Look, defensively] 

You never did. 

**Captain**:   
No . . . I'm afraid of things like being unable to see or move or breathe   
freely, or of being completely powerless to help someone else, -- or of   
the people I trusted unquestioningly to make the best choices for the best   
reasons, suddenly turning on each other and mauling each other without regard   
for truth or kinship. 

[Aegnor makes as if to say something, then stops; Angrod stares at him, but he   
feigns to be absorbed in watching their eldest sibling wrangle with their uncle   
over the positioning of the forts of the Leaguer.] 

**Aglon**: [aside]   
You'd think those who are unfit to be named among the Noldor would at least   
have the sense of shame, if nothing else, to refrain from displaying that fact! 

[his erstwhile adversary looks around at the number of people present, then at his   
solitary state] 

**Captain**: [to Huan]   
Dumb, but brave, no question. 

[the Sea-elf giggles but quickly ducks out of the Feanorian's line of sight] 

**Aglon**:   
Outnumbered or not, I am warranted in despising you for your . . . servility   
and lack of regard for our people's higher station. 

**Captain**: [shaking his head in disgust]   
I do not understand how you can sit there and mock us for being proud to be   
servants of our King, when your own life hinged on being Celegorm's gatekeeper. 

**Aglon**: [hot indignation]   
Lord Feanor's House are worthy lords and it is an honor to serve them, and give   
whatever aid one can to their efforts. 

**Captain**: [snorting]   
This is why I clobber you people, because I haven't the patience to go round   
and round in endless circles with you, trying to get you to see how you're   
being inconsistent. 

[the Warden gives him a sullen glare and looks away.] 

The difference between us is -- well, one of them, at least -- is that I'm   
honest about wanting direction and guidance, if no more than the reassurance   
that someone with greater knowledge, understanding and dispassion is there   
to back me up or call me down if need be, so I don't have to constantly   
second-guess the whole many-sided situation and my own judgments, to wit,   
should I be doing this at all? Are we even supposed to be here? Does anyone   
in charge have the least notion of what's afoot, and if I'm really it -- we've   
Morgoth's mercy of a chance of getting through this-- 

**Finrod**:   
Wouldn't you agree that I at least ought to know the disposition of the   
blasted marshes, now? 

**Steward**: [very precise]   
If I may remind you, my lord, you were not in full possession of your   
faculties at the time. The channel proper of Sirion was here, not here.   
If that had not been so, we would have drowned -- which I am fairly   
certain was not the case. 

**Finrod**: [disgusted]   
Oh, stop -- there, happy now? 

**Captain**: [disbelief evident]   
--Don't tell me you'd rather have had ultimate responsibility for the   
possible death or capture of your lord, not merely your company, than   
being told -- Hold the Pass and stop them from getting through after us,   
no matter what? --I know which I would have prefered in the Sudden Flame. 

[the Warden does not answer; again Finrod's brothers have a quick silent   
interchange, but do not end up saying anything.] 

**Steward**:   
That depends, Sire -- what definition of happiness are you using? 

**Captain**: [after a momentary hesitation, quietly]   
--I'm sorry about your brother. 

[pause] 

**Nerdanel**:   
I confess, I find it a matter of great wonderment to me, that ye do find it   
not troublesome i'the least wise, to make such Workings illusory, for lacking   
of all flesh. 

**Apprentice**: [reluctant and very apologetic]   
Er -- my lady, it's not really polite to mention the fact that people are --   
dead, here. 

**Warrior**:   
No, that's all right, that's only scientific curiosity, not that the lady's   
disturbed by us being ghosts. 

**Nerdanel**: [smiling sadly]   
Nay, yet e'en so likewise. 

**Warrior**: [with a respectful nod]   
Exactly, ma'am. 

[this just leaves the disguised Maia more confused than ever] 

**Elenwe**:   
On the contrary, good mine aunt, 'tis most passing light, that hath not weight   
of flesh thus interposéd 'twixt thought and world, that one verily might dwell   
most utter and complete, did so wish, within the pleasaunce of illusion. 

[Note: she pronounces "illusion" archaically, with a sibilant "s" instead of   
the "zh" sound, which makes it sound not unlike "Elysium".] 

**Finrod**: [offhand, still moving trees around]   
And then there's the possibility which has yet to be proven one way or the   
other, that everything here is illusory, in a sense. 

**Finarfin**: [jolted out of his brooding]   
All? 

**Finrod**: [looking up from the project for the moment]   
Right -- that none of this environment is extant in the same way that, say,   
the Big Island exists, or Arda itself, or our halls within Tirion, any more   
than a painting of a house is the same as the house itself, even if it were   
painted on screens around one so that someone walking through might not be   
able to tell without touching the walls that they were cloth instead of stone. 

**Aredhel**: [rolling her eyes]   
Oh, Stars, this is too absurd. 

**Finrod**:   
You can't prove it isn't so, all the same. 

**Angrod**: [guardedly]   
Lord Namo got very put out when you said that last time. 

**Finrod**: [gesturing to the arches overhead]   
I don't mean that the Halls themselves are necessarily unreal. Only that   
whatever we perceive here might well be as much a matter of Their willing   
and mental images of it, as our own perceptions of ourselves are our own.   
--One greater Working, making it possible for us that are discorporate to   
feel at home. 

[pause] 

**Nerdanel**:   
And what, youngling, of we that bide here most presently enflesh't? 

**Finrod**:   
Either the same -- or else you might be but dreaming, and your bodies still   
Outside. 

**Amarie**: [outraged]   
Nay, I ken well that I dream not! 

**Finrod**:   
How? 

**Luthien**: [thoughtful frown]   
Hm. I'm really not sure, myself. It all looks and seems very real -- but then   
it would, wouldn't it? 

**Amarie**:   
Forasmuch as were't mine own, 'twould be other than this, in truth! 

**Finrod**: [carefully bland]   
Against the Weaver's workings, and Lord Namo's -- you'd back your own   
strength, then? 

[she stares at him angrily, caught ought; he goes on as if not aware of her   
dilemma] 

What this place looks to be, to one of the gods -- or to the One -- I   
am not sure, as much as I am sure from all the evidence that it does not   
appear exactly the same to each of us, and that our own will changes not   
only our own perceptions, but may also shift those of others near us.   
That's all. 

[to Elenwe] 

I must say, dearest cousin, your garden in Tirion is superb. One can almost   
recall color therein. 

**Elenwe**: [self-deprecating]   
Aye, well, 'tis long enow I shall have Worked it, verily. 

**Finarfin**: [to Fingolfin]   
What makest thou of such theorem -- or indeed must I declare, theorem passing   
strange and troublous, my brother? 

**Fingolfin**: [shrugging]   
It does not seem to matter much one way or the other, ultimately -- Majesty. 

[Finarfin looks at him warily, but his elder is smiling at him with a faintly-   
rueful expression of shared sibling humour, and precedes to manifest a chessman,   
raising his eyebrows as he continues:] 

So that I might conjure me up the semblance of my diversions, for myself it   
changes nothing if the floor beneath my gaming table be as phantasmal as the   
board, if your son's most troublesome speculation, that there be no hall of   
very hollowing, but all here's solid rock, and thus the Halls to be enlarged   
ever without difficulty, by virtue of their merely artificial state. 

**Finrod**: [who is frowning rather hard at a section of the lower Sirion]   
Mind you, uncle, I don't think that possibility's particularly likely -- it   
would require, for one, that the Weaver have broken an imaginary lamp in a   
fit of anger, then gotten upset over that and flung it at us, which would   
seem to be taking a bit of playacting rather far and indicate that she herself   
had gotten caught up in her own illusions, which in turn just doesn't fit with   
what I know of the Powers at all. --Though it would explain how it's so easy   
to move them around, and so hard to map them -- or how there's no consistency   
of distance or travel here. One explanation, at least. 

[to the Steward, indicating some detail on the map] 

--What about that? 

**Fourth Guard**: [wry]   
Whatever you do, Sir, don't mention that possibility to Beren. 

[checks -- to Luthien] 

I'm so sorry, my Lady. 

**Luthien**: [serene]   
Don't be. I know that he's isn't lost. 

[to the mapping team] 

That looks rather different from the image I saw in the Hall of Maps. 

**Finrod**: [looking up again from where he's kneeling, pleased]   
Oh, did you see that? What did you think of it? 

**Luthien**: [sighing]   
Mostly -- that's how much further I'm going to have to walk? And then, -- that   
it was incredibly beautiful. 

**Finrod**: [with a touch of mischief]   
Edrahil made that, you know. 

**Steward**: [tolerant patience]   
Aye, my lord, even as you made Nargothrond, in degree proportionate to its   
lesser scale. 

[pointing] 

If you're going to put in ponds of that small size, her Highness will never   
get a chance to resume her narrative. 

**Finrod**:   
Don't be absurd, it won't take that long. 

**Steward**: [aside]   
And that is a saying that has never been heard before. 

**Ambassador**: [dryly]   
One does wonder if Lord Namo will be quite as indulgent as my master your   
uncle, Sire . . .? 

**Captain**: [calling down to them]   
Oh, I'm sure he won't mind stepping over him ever time he has to hold an   
audience, really. Nor her Ladyship. 

**Finrod**: [mock indignation]   
Hey there, enough -- that project only took . . . er, right. I suppose we   
ought to finish it up, oughtn't we? 

**Steward**:   
We, my lord? 

[As the Captain is scratching Huan's nose with a more cheerful expression,   
(and Finrod's brothers are looking rather wistful at the easy camaraderie of   
the preceding exchanges,) the Sea-Mew edges up closer to them and pokes him   
on the arm] 

**Teler Maid**:   
Well? 

**Captain**:   
Well, what? 

**Teler Maid**:   
Well, did he or did he not? Make that other map? 

**Captain**: [shrugging]   
It was his idea; he got permission -- coordinated the research -- planned   
the program of the illustrations and their sequence -- chose the colors --   
assembled a group of artists to carry it out -- might perhaps have actually   
touched the murals twice in the course of correcting its lines. What do you   
think? 

**Teler Maid**: [raising her eyebrows]   
I think it most odd that they do quibble over it then. 

[the Lord Warden breaks into the ensuing pause with an abruptness reminiscent of   
a bird-of-prey's sharp movement] 

**Aglon**: [impatient]   
Well? 

**Captain**: [shaking his head]   
This again! Well, what? 

**Aglon**:   
Aren't you going to say anything else? 

**Captain**: [bemused]   
Almost certainly. It's rather a habit, I'm afraid. 

[the Warden gives him a very dark Look and snorts indignantly, but does not   
further explain. Finrod sits back and looks down at the carpet of three-   
dimensional illuminated terrain appraisingly] 

**Finrod**:   
That should do it, I think. 

**Luthien**: [hesitant]   
It still seems a bit off. 

**Finrod**:   
It's probably the difference in perspective that's causing it. At least-- 

[with an ironic grin, to his chief counselor] 

--let's hope so! 

[they get up and resume their former places on the steps, the Steward giving   
his lord a hand up; as the youngest of the Kings present circles the image   
he intersects, quite unawares, with his father's ankle, causing the latter   
to flinch not with fear but distress; the late High King, observing, reaches   
out to comfort the living, and then catches himself -- but Finarfin gives his   
brother a grateful and appreciative look all the same. As Finrod sits down by   
Luthien's side, he whistles] 

That's a great deal of map, isn't it? 

[to Luthien, a bit chagrined] 

Sorry. 

**Luthien**: [shaking her head]   
It's all right, I understand. 

**Angrod**: [muttering]   
He's put Mithrim in the wrong place. 

**Aegnor**:   
No, he hasn't; it's the angle, that's all. 

**Angrod**:   
I don't think so. 

**Aegnor**:   
Fine -- you get him going again now that he's calmed down. 

**Eol**: [contemptuous]   
Of course they would leave out Nan Elmoth. 

**Aredhel**: [looking around at him, and in the same tone]   
Stop being stupid -- the map doesn't go that far east. I don't see my home   
on there, either, do you? 

**Luthien**:   
That's a deliberate omission, though, I'm guessing, since it must be right   
in there somewhere-- 

[she points towards the topography of the Crissaegrim] 

**Aredhel**: [sitting up straight, shocked]   
How do you know where it is? 

**Luthien**: [shrugging]   
Well, I saw it -- or what I presumed it must have been, unless there are   
more secret Cities tucked away in Beleriand than our spies ever heard of. 

**Finrod**:   
You actually saw Gondolin? 

**Luthien**:   
I saw a stone city, not like ours, but like a big white water-lily in a cup   
of water-- 

[Elenwe seems really interested, for the first time, but doesn't interrupt] 

**Aredhel**: [giving Luthien an incredulous Look]   
--What?! It's nothing like that! 

**Luthien**: [speaking on as if the other woman hadn't been so rude]   
--or like, like the Fortress might have been, if it wasn't contaminated   
and an awful lot bigger. 

**Finrod**: [suspiciously hoarse]   
--How? 

**Luthien**: [blinking]   
Um. You mean, how did I see it? That was when the Eagles were taking us   
south from Angband. But that's a long while after, and I'm getting ahead   
of myself. But from the air, that's how. 

[he doesn't answer, and looks rather strained] 

What's wrong? Finrod? 

[Finrod shakes his head, lifting his hand in a waving-off gesture, but can't   
talk. The Steward half turns and grips his wrist reassuringly] 

**Steward**:   
My lord, let not the shock of unprepared-for recollection force from your   
thoughts that Lord Turgon is well, and safe, and his folk likewise -- and   
leave aside as unfruitful all concerns for the cause and breadth of your   
friendship's sundering until you may see him again to question him in person. 

[Finrod looks down, not speaking] 

**Elenwe**: [earnest]   
Ingold. And he hath changéd out all recognition, mine own dear love had   
ne'er willingly reft thy friendship, nor thee of his companioning. --Trust   
me, that hath a consort's comprehension, if thou mayest not trust thy friend   
in his absentry. 

**Huan**:   
[worried whine] 

**Captain**: [holding him down by his collar]   
No, he wouldn't appreciate it if you trod on everyone to go cheer him up. 

**Fingolfin**: [very knowing]   
The hurt is assuaged somewhat by knowing that my son and granddaughter bide   
secure -- but it abides nonetheless. 

[Finrod does not look up yet, but nods in answer] 

**Aredhel**: [distinctly uncomfortable]   
I don't see why you're making such a matter of it -- it isn't as if you'd   
likely have seen him more than once in a yen regardless. 

[the Steward turns his head and gives her an arctic Look] 

**Steward**: [ice]   
Highness, do not exaggerate that you may diminish your own unease for my   
lord your kinsman's sorrow even as your royal father's. 

[she does not quite dare to tell him to shut up, so contents herself with   
ignoring him.] 

**Finrod**: [straightening with a sigh]   
Well. 

[shaking his head] 

It's a good thing the Enemy hasn't managed to construct any creatures   
capable of matching an Eagle for flying capability. 

[Aredhel's husband shakes his head, laughing scornfully] 

**Eol**:   
Is there no end to your frantic and implausible speculations, Noldo? 

[taut, hostile pause as the Ten and the Princes give Eol angry glares] 

**Finrod**: [wry]   
Not that I've discovered, cousin. 

[from Eol's expression, no epithet could be more insulting/annoying than that   
last; to Luthien:] 

So -- do you want to tell me about your journey now? You've waited long   
enough, I'm afraid. 

**Luthien**: [apologetic]   
Oh, there hardly seems that much to tell, when you come down to it. I mean,   
it was rather frightening and rugged -- but the fear was wasted, really. It   
was more boring than anything else -- walk all day; find water; scavenge   
something to eat; hide if it sounded like something larger than a mouse might   
be about, find a tree or a high boulder to rest on when I got too tired to   
walk any longer -- and do it all again the next day. 

[shrugging] 

I didn't see anything more dangerous than stags and boar -- no more sign of   
Orcs than of my father's scouts. I'd hoped that laying a false trail Northward   
would have misled them -- but I scarcely dared to hope it would work, if you   
know what I mean. 

**Finrod**:   
They probably thought you'd go the easiest way, through Brethil, right to the   
Crossings and strike upriver to the Fortress from there. 

**Luthien**:   
I'm not that foolish. I did try to do things prudently and systematically at   
least. I just didn't anticipate-- 

[she glances at Nerdanel and checks herself] 

--Fate. 

[shaking her head, ironic] 

To think of all the energy I wasted worrying about those Enemy armies my   
father said were waiting to swoop down and hunt me like a deer, when I   
could have been worrying full time about you all instead. 

**Ambassador**: [weary]   
Highness, your father only said that because it was the truth. 

**Luthien**: [coolly]   
Then why did I never hear anything before Dad comes out with it as if he'd   
only just thought of the possibility and were trying to convince himself   
that it were more than that? 

**Ambassador**: [sighing]   
My Princess -- no one wished to trouble you with useless fears, that you   
might no longer pass each day in full content -- or still worse, to cause   
you grief and guilt over the risk and cost of life to our warriors, as   
though it were indeed your own fault and responsibility that our ancient   
foe should seek in such a way to harm great Melian and our lord your father. 

[pause] 

**Luthien**: [grim]   
You know perfectly well what it looks like, though -- don't you? 

**Ambassador**:   
. . . 

[overlapping, all as worried as if it were still a potential danger] 

**Second Guard**:   
Please, my Lady, it was the truth-- 

**Captain**:   
Your father wasn't lying, Highness, I did hear about that from Beleg once-- 

**Finrod**:   
Even if it sounds suspect and was manipulative, you can believe that part,   
cousin. 

**Luthien**: [with a sweeping-away gesture of her hand]   
Oh I do, I believe it -- now; Beren told me. And it does make sense, after   
all, really -- that He'd be trying to get me as part of all his other   
offensives against them, to use me as leverage to get Doriath to surrender,   
if he could take me hostage. Or for revenge. But-- 

[she is still grim and her expression bitter] 

**Finrod**: [gently]   
--Nevertheless, it's a difficult thing, to discover that those you've trusted   
to be wiser than yourself for all your life -- and more perfect in all abilities   
and virtue -- have deceived you. It calls all into question, everything that   
they've said before, and then afterwards to justify it -- not excluding whether   
or not it really was done for good intentions and for your own sake. 

[she nods, gloomily; he turns a challenging Look on the living Vanya present] 

--Do you not agree, my lady? 

**Amarie**: [stifled, looking straight ahead]   
I deny thee not the right of thy words. 

**Finrod**:   
And what of the rightness of them? 

[finally she glares at him] 

**Amarie**: [through her teeth]   
I'll not allow thee right thereunto defend thy rebel soul, by holding claim   
of ill-doing 'gainst the gods, that one wrong be set to justification of the   
other. 

**Luthien**: [reasonable]   
But that isn't what he's doing. He's pointing out the fact that after one   
has ruined one's credibility in a great matter, the trail's been beaten for   
any subsequent crises to follow, so that both future credibility and moral   
authority are now forever going to be deservedly taken with a grain of salt.   
That's why we don't really trust the Noldor any more. --Present company   
excepted with exceptions, of course. 

[to Finrod, with a curious frown] 

--Why salt? 

**Finrod**:   
Er -- what? 

[he is just as thrown as everyone else by both the non-sequitur and the rapid   
recovery from angry exhausted nervous wreck to competent member of an ages-old   
ruling House, both those who knew the Princess in life as much as those who have   
only seen her under present circumstances.] 

**Luthien**:   
Where does that expression come from, and what does it mean? Beren had no idea   
why they used it as a figure of speech. 

**Finrod**:   
Oh. It -- ah, it's used in chemical reactions. 

[as she keeps looking at him doubtfully, head to one side] 

**Steward**:   
There are also medical applications of the element, my Lady -- which must be   
ever tempered lest it do more harm than good, to mortal systems -- and there   
is a more likely route for the metaphor to have entered the mortal vernacular,   
I judge. 

**Finrod**: [nodding]   
Yes, that's a much clearer way of putting it. 

**Luthien**:   
Oh. 

[clearly not quite satisfied] 

He guessed it might be because you can make any old glop taste halfway   
edible, if you add salt to it, when you're messing out pottage. 

[the Ambassador winces at her idioms] 

**Finrod**:   
That -- could also be right. 

[pause] 

Dare I guess, how Elu reacted to you using North-country Sindarin about   
the place? 

**Luthien**: [rueful]   
Sounds like you already have. 

* * *

**SCENE V.xiv**

  
[Elsewhere: the Corollaire] 

[As Beren lifts his head we see that the Earthqueen has taken on her form   
as one of the Children of Eru, but here, out of doors and above-ground, her   
green dress glows in the early morning light and power coruscates from her   
like a waterfall in sunshine. No question that this is one of the Greater   
Powers who stands here, whatever her visible guise. She approaches him and   
rests her hands on his shoulders.] 

**Yavanna:**   
Well done. 

[smiling, she pulls him up to his feet and continues to stand with her hands   
on his shoulders, looking down at him with an expression of tearful pride] 

**Beren**: [wonderingly]   
I . . . know you. --But I've always known you-- 

**Yavanna**:   
Of course. 

[she draws her hands down his arms, taking his hand and holding his amputated   
wrist for a moment before reaching up to brush the hair away from his forehead] 

--My bravest of servants. 

[still holding him by the hand, she turns and leads him to the eastern crest of   
the Corollaire, where she sits down in the grass and pulls him down beside her   
while he is still hesitating over whether it would be disrespectful. Putting her   
arm around his shoulders as if he were a younger sibling:] 

--So. Is this real? 

[startled, he ventures to look at her directly, and realizes that she is teasing   
him a little, -- and starts to smile back] 

**Beren**:   
I think -- that so much of me is left -- is really here. --Whatever here means   
without a body. 

[with a faintly-confused expression] 

But -- it seems so real to me -- I seem real to me, I don't feel like a   
wraith here, even though it's -- Outside-- 

[stretching, leaning back, lifting his head and closing his eyes, like a hound   
scenting the wind] 

The air -- the grass -- I can smell the breeze, taste the dew on it -- it   
doesn't feel like just memory this time-- 

**Yavanna**: [tossing her head]   
Hmph. I should hope not. 

[she rubs his back gently, and he looks at her again, trying to understand] 

**Beren**:   
Are -- are you making all this happen -- for me? 

[she nods] 

I guess it's like when Tinuviel Sent to me in prison -- I never did understand   
if that was completely in my mind, or not -- I don't think she understood what   
I was asking, either . . . I said, "You were there. We were home," and she   
said, "I know, I was trying so hard to reach you, I didn't know if you were   
still here," and I kept trying to figure out if it was just a dream, or if I   
was really seeing it, and she just kept saying, "Well, yes, of course," and   
I figured it didn't really matter. 

[frowning intently] 

Except -- when I heard her in the dungeon, I was alive, so if it was real   
the way I still think of real then it was her changing the world outside me   
so that I really sensed it, but if it was a dream -- and I do know better now   
than to say, just a dream, but I still sort of think that way, telepathy isn't   
originally a mortal word at all, although none of these are, I guess . . . and   
you're being incredibly patient, listening to me ramble around like this-- 

[Yavanna smiles without saying anything] 

--so anyway, if it was all a dream, inside my mind, not the outside world   
changing but her voice affecting me directly, and I do think that has to   
be the case, because I don't think even a trumpet you could hear that far   
underground, much less a voice, then I was still there, only inside myself,   
so to speak -- so if that's what you're doing now, only more so, because this   
is even realler than that was -- where am I then? See, if I'm a ghost, then   
I still must be somewhere, right? But I'm having a hard time figuring that out,   
and how it would work really -- I mean, outside myself. Because I'm not making   
this up for me, you are. 

[frustrated] 

I don't have the words to explain this. 

**Yavanna**: [dryly]   
I can tell you've been spending far too much time around those "Wise Elves"   
for your own peace of mind. The words you're looking for are "immaterial   
extramental reality," I believe. 

**Beren**: [nodding]   
That sounds about right. 

[gesturing down towards the tranquil, uninhabited sward just below them] 

--So, if someone was out there, and you didn't think of putting them in   
this -- extramental reality, I wouldn't see them, would I? And if they looked   
up at the Corollaire, and happened to be looking on this side, they'd see you   
just sitting here talking to your self? --Apparently? 

**Yavanna**: [raising an eyebrow]   
What makes you think they'd see anyone at all? 

**Beren**:   
You can be invisible if you want to? Oh. Yeah. You're a goddess, I guess you   
can if you want. Or . . . 

[he frowns, worrying it over] 

--Are you even here at all? On the real Corollaire? Or is this just the idea   
of it that's in your thoughts? 

[still smiling, she nods, once, deliberately; he looks down, biting his lip] 

I guess I asked for that one. Um. What I'm trying to say is, how much of this   
is real? except what I'm really trying to ask is, what is "real"--? 

**Yavanna**:   
We are. 

**Beren**: [half-smile, teasing her just a little--]   
So if you forgot about me would I stop existing? 

**Yavanna**: [quizzical]   
Did I make you? 

[he blinks at this, uncomprehending -- reaching down into the grass on her other   
side, she picks up a large snail, which comes out of its dormant state and begins   
to crawl across the back of her hand, waving exploratory eyes as she offers it to   
Beren, who lets it transfer itself to his knuckles, regarding with a charmed smile] 

--Not even the solid shell, that once protected your moving self as this little   
one's does, as integral and as hardily lost, is truly of my making, for all that   
the elemental substance of your flesh was taken from the works of my fashioning,   
even as theirs takes its nourishment from my husband's. --Though that did allow   
me to clothe you more appropriately while you remain my guest. 

[as Beren looks at the Earthqueen, confusion becomes comprehension -- swiftly   
followed by utter embarrassment; blushing furiously he scrutinizes the gliding   
mollusk rather than meet her eyes. She regards him with gentle curiosity:] 

--Why does that shame you? Or are you ashamed of your housing itself -- that   
love once gave you dwelling, made for you a shelter and warmth and garb for   
your naked soul, like every least furry animal? Do you think it nobler then,   
to be self-incarnate as we, taking shape but of our own will and power from   
the elements -- as young Melian did, for love -- than to come into Arda   
involuntarily, like this little one? 

[she scoops up a small rodent from the hillside, mouse or vole or similar critter,   
and holds it between them cupped in her palm] 

--Or Luthien Tinuviel? 

[Yavanna looks at him with earnest expression, waiting patiently for an answer.   
After a moment he carefully lets the snail crawl down onto grass and reaches over   
to stroke the little mammal sitting in her hand as it grooms its whiskers:] 

**Beren**:   
No. I'm not ashamed of being born. 

[looking up at her meaningfully] 

I'm not ashamed of being shaped of Earth. 

[with a slightly-rueful smile] 

--Little bit embarrassed at the idea of you knowing me that thoroughly that   
you can remember all this-- 

[gesturing across his body] 

--so right, but I guess I can deal with that, since it never bothered me to   
think of it when I was living, having been born. 

[in a light, bantering tone, as he recovers from his discomfiture] 

--Thank you for the outfit, by the way. I always seem to be getting given   
shelter and clothes -- seems like another thing hasn't changed, being dead.   
You know, I'm supposed to be old enough to look after myself-- 

[a sudden expression of alarm comes over his face] 

Hey, does that mean that -- that I was in their thoughts the same way I'm   
in yours, earlier, when . . . 

[he hides his face against his knees in mortification as Yavanna smiles amusedly,   
letting the mouse-creature run freely from one hand to the other as she sits   
peacefully in the shadow of the dead Trees . . .] 

* * *

**SCENE V.xv**

  
[the Hall] 

[there is a certain definite tension in the atmosphere, and a more alert   
aspect to all the listeners, which might be the consequence of recent events,   
or of those which are about to be reached in the story being told. Huan is   
hunkered down at the back, hard up against the footing of the Thrones, trying   
very hard to be as unobtrusive as possible for a horse-sized canid.] 

**Luthien**: [in a frank, matter-of-fact tone]   
The whole thing is very difficult to talk about, because it's very hard   
even to think about properly at this point. I can't sort out well what   
were my impressions then, without them taking color from the light of   
subsequent revelations, and I'm not the same person I was then, either-- 

**Eol**: [interrupting]   
--No, you're just a dead one, silly girl. You're still the same person. 

**Luthien**: [with a controlled edge]   
That wasn't what I meant, cousin. By the time we returned home finally --   
long before that in fact -- it was-- 

[thoughtful pause] 

--as if Luthien was another country, and Tinuviel someone who had lived   
there, once, but long ago and that land so far distant that it perhaps   
didn't exist and there could be no going back to there in any event. 

[briskly again] 

So, as it happened, where we were when Huan caught me wasn't as far from   
the City as it seemed, but I'd no way of judging distances out there, away   
from Doriath where I knew the landmarks, and being carried on horseback   
instead of walking. I didn't know we were going so much slower than need   
be, until much later, and then I realized that they must have been working   
out their approach to dealing with Orodreth and everyone else that was part   
of the following of House Finarfin. 

[with a very edged, lopsided smile] 

They just forgot to take into account two other people. 

**Captain**: [frowning to himself]   
Now, why were they out there at all? That wasn't part of their normal   
preferred range -- what were they hunting up in the northern borders   
for, anyway? 

**Luthien**: [shrugging]   
Apparently there were a lot of Wargs up there lately. I don't know, I   
never saw any. But that's what people said, besides themselves -- when   
we got back to the City -- I mean, when they got back to the City and   
I got there -- everyone was asking them if there had been many this time   
and congratulating them on doing such a good job of defending the Realm. 

[the Captain makes a disgusted sound and shakes his head] 

Yes, well, the fact that I never saw a Werewolf in my travels made me   
wonder at first if they'd deliberately gone to intercept me, if they'd   
Seen me coming, but it seems there was legitimately an increased threat   
reported by the border patrols, and that was the reason for the hunt they   
were holding. But I did glean from things overheard and said carelessly,   
by them and by the guards from their following, that it was partly a   
deliberate decision to make a good showing, focus attention on how active   
and proactive the two of them were being -- as compared to Orodreth   
sequestered in his office and buried under stacks of parchment. 

**Finrod**: [quiet]   
How was he doing, as far as you could tell? 

**Luthien**:   
Completely overwhelmed, from what I could see. --Now I really don't know   
how things were supposed to run, because I know you do them so much more   
different from Menegroth, but I definitely had the impression that even   
though things seemed normal on the surface -- not surface, you know what   
I mean -- nobody was starving, the City still had light and heat and there   
weren't any signs of want about -- that despite that, it was total chaos   
underneath and Orodreth was finding it quite beyond him to manage both   
your jobs at once. 

[to the Steward, who is brooding over her words, leaning forward and putting   
her hand on his shoulder] 

--My lord, don't agonize over feeling somewhat satisfied that your Work   
was finally recognized and appreciated, if too late -- your friends will   
certainly be doing it for you, and you're not pleased about it any more   
than about the cause of it. 

[he looks somewhat surpassed at her perception and assessment and nods once   
in acquiescence] 

**Finrod**: [sadly]   
I had hoped that by my according him authority in view of all, he would   
have had more confidence in doing what needed to be done. He's a very able   
administrator -- there were never any significant complaints, nothing beyond   
the usual grumbling on all sides that there never were enough resources or   
time to meet all expectations, or that expectations weren't being met to   
satisfaction -- in all the centuries he ran Minas Tirith for me. 

**Aegnor**: [sharp]   
Don't feel sorry for him, Ingold -- it was his duty to stand by you, not   
to take the easy route of non-resistance (again--!) and he doesn't deserve   
any pity if it turned out to be a tougher job than he'd anticipated. 

**Finrod**: [very gently]   
It's much more complicated than that. 

[he is looking at their father as he speaks; Finarfin's countenance is as   
expressionless, and fragile, as a glass mask. Luthien looks over her shoulder   
at the Princes:] 

**Luthien**: [earnest]   
Why do you blame Beren, and not him, anyway? 

[longish pause] 

**Finrod**:   
Because they don't want to think about one of us standing by and doing   
nothing to aid or defend the other. Easier to lay all the blame on those   
outside the family. 

**Aegnor**: [hotly]   
Don't speak for us -- you're not me! 

[their sibling nods agreement] 

**Finrod**:   
All right. --What would you say different to what I said only now? 

[they both look sullen, Angrod more gloomy, Aegnor more tense; but don't actually   
have anything to add as it turns out] 

It's the same problem with facing the fact of their friends' complicity. 

[it is Aredhel's turn to glare now as well, but she doesn't say anything yet] 

**Finarfin**: [softly]   
Yet thou dost not hate thy brother? 

**Finrod**: [shaking his head]   
No. Oh, no. I understand Orodreth far better now. I admit I was very   
angry with him at the outset, and -- bitter, for quite some time   
thereafter . . . and it still twinges, now and then, the way old scars   
do -- but the anger died when I understood what he'd been up against,   
and why he couldn't face the thought of conflict again. He was right;   
I shouldn't have let him follow me from Aman. 

[his father shakes his head in turn, very definite] 

**Finarfin**:   
Nay. In that hour thou couldst no more have stopped him, from staying by   
side of thee his dearest friend, than I to hold ye back. And he did blame   
thee for his -- will, he did most assuredly to err. 

[Finrod looks uncomfortable, but somewhat reassured] 

**Angrod**: [taut]   
The fact remains that he broke, and you didn't. 

**Finrod**: [in a patient, we've-argued-this-before tone]   
He fell back on a stronger position in order to save as many as he could   
from the Enemy, rather than stay, and die, and give to Sauron not only the   
Fortress but casualties we couldn't afford with it. 

[before the brothers can raise any more objections] 

**Fingolfin**:   
I must aver that I hold still 'twould have been a better risk, had young   
Orodreth made the attempt I died in making, and hazarded his own life   
against that of his adversary, so that the loss of one where one's own   
side was losing might chance to take the head from the winners and make   
the field level, if not recover victory thereby. 

[this gets him disturbed Looks from their living relatives] 

**Angrod**: [contrarily defensive]   
No, that would have been a completely wasted gesture, uncle, you know he   
isn't a warrior on a level with you or Fingon-- 

**Aredhel**: [not quite aside]   
That's a very kind way of putting it-- 

**Finrod**: [forcefully]   
We are interrupting our royal cousin's story once again. --Luthien, pray   
continue, if you please. 

**Luthien**:   
Well. At first I thought they just didn't believe me, and then I thought   
they couldn't because of some strange Dark influence over everyone's minds   
-- and then I didn't want to believe for a long time that they just didn't   
want to believe me. Afterwards I found out that most people were very   
uncomfortable having me about trying to force them to think about it, but   
I just thought it was surreal the way everyone was still having parties   
and enjoying themselves and worrying about trivial things -- and then   
they'd ask me why I was crying and wouldn't I like to dance perhaps?--! 

[darkly] 

Then there were some who were, as it turned out, laughing at me all along   
as I tried to wake the rest of the City up to the crisis. 

[back along the dais, the Sea-elf whispers to the Captain, who nods   
affirmatively] 

**Nerdanel**: [tired]   
Nay, seek not to spare my soul from anguish, good Luthien, else thou must   
needs spend a wearisome longsome time thy tale a-telling, to periscribe   
all mentioning my sons their names. 

[they exchange a look of regret and sympathetic understanding] 

**Luthien**:   
I wish I didn't have to. 

[sighing] 

Anyway, the whole time there is very confusing and strange. I kept   
getting lost, and everyone kept smiling -- in the politest way -- at   
the poor native girl, overwhelmed at being out of the woods for the   
first time. I was dazed, and sick, and felt like I was missing part   
of me, and I thought sometimes that Beren must already be dead and   
I was starting to fade, and other times it seemed like I was in some   
illusion gone wrong and couldn't escape from it-- 

[she is starting to fray a little again] 

**Amarie**: [weary exasperation]   
Nay, let not thy words to melt anew and drown thy tale its telling--! 

**Luthien**: [pulling herself together]   
I'm not going to start crying again. I'm just saying that it's hard   
for me to describe my adventures in Nargothrond, because half the time   
I don't know where exactly I was any more than I'm sure of what was   
going on, and a lot of it runs together as if it was the same but I   
know it wasn't, but I couldn't tell what time of day it was any more   
than I could tell where I was in relation to where I was -- had been,   
I mean. 

**Steward**: [straight-faced]   
We could construct a model of the City, if that would help, my Lady. 

[Finrod gives him a tiny, amused shove] 

**Luthien**: [smiling a little]   
Well, it turned out that it was because my power had been taken from me   
and locked away so I really was only partly there -- as soon as Huan   
brought me back my cape I was instantly recovered, mostly, and I wasn't   
disoriented at all. I think I could have found my way out by myself,   
then, even without Huan's guiding me, but of course it was much faster   
with -- where is Huan, anyway? Has he gone off again? 

**Captain**:   
He's up here, hiding, behind us, my Lady. 

**Luthien**: [looking round]   
What are you hiding for, dog? Why don't you come out here where we can   
all see you? 

[Huan wags his tail, lifting his head from his paws to give her a canine grin,   
but doesn't get up.] 

You don't need to be embarrassed -- all of us made mistakes, after all. 

**Huan**:   
[more vigorous tail-thumps] 

[but he still doesn't come to her] 

**Luthien**: [shrugging]   
All right, suit yourself. 

**Finrod**:   
Why don't you manifest your cape with you, here, by-the-by? 

**Luthien**: [wry]   
It didn't seem appropriate to show up showing off, or that's how it   
felt like it would feel, saying "I'm the one who knocked out Morgoth   
and don't you forget it!" It seemed -- hm, impolite, and as though it   
wouldn't be particularly helpful. 

[frowning grimly] 

Though now I'm not sure it or anything would make any difference one   
way or the other. 

[Finrod pushes her hair back where it has fallen in her face again and   
squeezes her shoulder consolingly, and she manages to give him a wan smile] 

Curufin wanted to try to figure out military applications for it, I   
heard -- but that wouldn't have worked in the end, since there's only   
one of me, and Celegorm's whole purpose in taking it away from me was   
to keep me from leaving so that I wouldn't be in danger. So there would   
have been a collision, ultimately, there. 

[as she makes this acerbic remark, Aredhel leans around and glares at her] 

Of course, when I say "danger," that only refers to danger-outside-   
Nargothrond, not to danger from Celegorm becoming besotted with me and   
abandoning all Elven standards of decent behaviour in his attempts to   
convince me to return his affections--! 

[Nerdanel closes her eyes briefly before returning her attention to her   
sketching] 

**Aredhel**: [sharply]   
What did you do to him? 

**Luthien**:   
Me? 

**Aredhel**: [snorting]   
No, the other you -- of course you. 

**Luthien**: [blinking]   
I talked to him, listened to him, played chess against him -- I didn't   
use any of my power against him, if that's what you're getting at --   
though that wasn't for want of trying! it just wasn't possible to awaken   
him from delusion when he wasn't deluded -- at least, not that way. 

**Aredhel**:   
There must have been something else. 

**Luthien**:   
What are you talking about? 

**Aredhel**: [scoffing laugh]   
Well, obviously. Just look at you. 

[shaking her head] 

There's got to be some reasonable explanation for why a Noldor prince would   
be taken by an uncivilized, ill-groomed Dark-elven barbarian he'd never even   
met before. 

[there are several suppressed "coughing fits" around the group at her words] 

Sorcery's the only one that comes to mind. 

[silence] 

**Steward**: [aside]   
I did at first wonder why the White Lady was ill-at-ease in her brother's   
City, but no longer. 

[Luthien glances briefly at Nerdanel, who is completely preoccupied,   
to outward appearance, with copying the map of west Beleriand into   
her sketchbook and allows no flicker to cross her expression at the   
conversation's turns] 

**Luthien**: [glacially slow]   
You're saying it's my fault that Celegorm became obsessed with the idea   
of marrying me whether I wanted him or not and made that clear not only   
by word but by deed? 

[silence] 

How, exactly, am I supposed to have done that? --And why would I want   
to? Star and Water, I only went with them because they said they were   
friends of Finrod and would help me rescue Beren. 

**Aredhel**: [decidedly]   
Then there must have been some sort of misunderstanding on your part. 

**Luthien**: [levelly]   
No, I don't think so. That isn't the sort of thing one can misunderstand.   
It's like being shot at repeatedly from no range at all -- in some   
circumstances you could explain away a stray arrow as a hunting accident,   
but not that one. 

**Aredhel**: [getting still more definite]   
He isn't that sort of person -- he's not an Orc, a monster, he wouldn't do that! Neither of them. 

**Luthien**: [blunt]   
He might not have been the sort of person who would do that when you   
knew him -- but he certainly was then. And Curufin even Darker. 

**Aredhel**: [accusatory]   
Then what made him that? 

[pause] 

**Luthien**: [very deliberately]   
I think killing people for gain or anger, and not dire necessity, changes   
you. Even more than hunting, or fighting in defense, does. I think that   
after you've done that, and after you've spent long enough justifying it   
to yourself, it becomes impossible to See anything properly. You become   
like Morgoth, and once that impossible abomination has become possible   
to you, and righteous to you, then there's no reason you can't justify   
anything else you want to do -- any kind of taking and tyranny is open,   
after that theft of another's body -- why stop at a different sort?   
Insight is useless at that point, I'd guess, because one's vision is   
too distorted to allow for accurate perspective. 

[the Lord Warden of Aglon is shaking his head, but with a somewhat uncertain   
and dismayed look] 

--That's why I stopped Beren from killing Curufin. The Enemy has enough   
servants as it is. I don't know that it would be impossible to recover   
from kinslaying, alive -- but it didn't seem advisable to find out. 

[Aredhel is gathering herself to respond, but the Doriathrin lord breaks in   
first:] 

**Ambassador**:   
But -- they weren't kin, then: he's mortal, and you two weren't --   
wed, then. 

**Luthien**: [meaningful]   
If we were not akin, would we have fallen in love? There is as little   
distance between Men, and us, as between ourselves and the gods. 

**Ambassador**:   
But-- 

[Luthien just Looks at him with one eyebrow raised; he covers his face with   
his hands, embarrassed] 

**Amarie**: [quiet but fiercely resentful]   
Needs must ever boast thy divine descent, Daughter of Twilight? 

**Luthien**: [coolly]   
Only when it seems relevant. 

[Aredhel is about to start in on Luthien again, but her husband gets there first] 

**Eol**: [snorting]   
That's what you get for trusting the Noldor. Elu and I agree on that,   
at least. 

**Luthien**: [curiously]   
How do you deal with the fact that you're partly Second Host yourself? 

**Eol**: [ominously cold]   
What did you say? 

**Luthien**: [puzzled]   
You know, about-- 

[Aredhel breaks in before he can answer] 

**Aredhel**: [jeeringly]   
He doesn't. He won't talk about his parents at all. I only know because   
I got it out of his servants eventually. --It is funny, isn't it? 

**Eol**: [turning his anger on her]   
Who was it who told you? I swear, I'll-- 

**Aredhel**:   
--You'll what? We're dead, in case you hadn't noticed, idiot. 

**Luthien**: [intrigued]   
Is that why you hate the Noldor so much? Are you jealous because you think   
you ought to have been one of them? Or is that why you're so afraid of love,   
because it made your father stay when your mother was helping to look for   
Dad? Or both of those, I suppose both could be tr-- 

[her kinsman sits forward, his eyes blazing, all his cool carelessness gone] 

**Eol**: [quiet menace]   
Luthien, stop talking now. 

**Luthien**: [looking at him with disbelief]   
Um -- no? 

**Eol**: [adamant]   
Luthien. You are a child, and you will keep silent among your elders. 

**Luthien**: [smiling sadly]   
Eol? That doesn't work. I'm not one of your dysfunctional followers who   
are willing to put up with your eccentricities for the sake of stable   
employment and security. 

[he grimaces at her, helpless to overwhelm her with his hypnotic aura, and   
subsides, aloof and haughty, while Aredhel smirks] 

**Angrod**: [shaking his head in disgust]   
'Feiniel, why did you marry this loser? 

**Eol**:   
Don't talk to my wife, Outlander. 

**Aredhel**: [to Eol]   
I'll talk to whomever I like, Master Smith! --Especially my kin. 

[to her cousin] 

Don't talk about my husband that way, do you hear me? 

**Aegnor**: [almost pleading]   
But 'Feiniel, why, why on the gods' green earth would you choose to take   
up with some repressive, antisocial, deranged hermit who's always telling   
you what to do? --And not to do? 

**Elenwe**: [to Finrod, wry]   
Dost not wish thou'dst chosen to abide most peaceably 'neath trellis by   
fountain's edge, in this its stead? 

**Aredhel**: [raising her voice]   
That's not how it was, you don't know what you're talking about-- 

**Aegnor**: [going on regardless]   
It's almost as if you've been brainwashed except you act like yourself in   
every other way, only more so. It just doesn't make sense to anyone who   
knows you. 

**Finrod**: [frank]   
That much peace and quiet, I fear, would drive me crazy-- 

[mischievous] 

Though who'd notice -- especially in present company? 

**Aredhel**: [turning to snap at him]   
--Ingold, stop acting superior. 

[the dead High King looks at his living counterpart] 

**Fingolfin**: [bland]   
Shall we go for a walk, my brother, while our children bicker, and see all   
that there is not to see here, until they have sorted it out for themselves? 

**Aredhel**: [jabbing her dagger into the step for emphasis as she speaks]   
You're all judging everything from the outside, and you don't understand. 

**Eol**: [flatly, arms crossed as he leans back on the steps]   
You think you'll ever convince one of your people of anything? Trust me, it   
isn't going to happen. 

**Finarfin**: [bemused, to his sibling]   
Was e'en so, deemst thou, for our own parents in that former Day? Such   
wearisome dismay at folly? 

**Fingolfin**: [dry]   
What folly, -- parent of Finrod? For I seem to recall that you were ever   
busy pouring oil upon troubled fires, while we elders kindled them, you all   
the while blowing on coals in effort to put them out. 

[his younger brother winces -- but with a grin of mutual comprehension, though   
some of the Ten look a bit nervous at the interchange of jibes between Finwe's   
sons.] 

**Angrod**: [getting more and more exasperated]   
Cousin, you never could stand to have anyone telling you what to do. 

**Apprentice**: [brightly]   
As a matter of fact we think that's part of it. 

[pause] 

You see, since no one was ever willing to demand anything of her, nor to   
insist on her compliance in any regard -- or to, what's the phrase, "stick   
with it"? when they did try -- it became uninteresting to her, and the   
continual pushing of boundaries began to find someone who would -- and   
that's what she found in Master Eol here, someone who wouldn't give in to   
her, wasn't impressed by her birth or skill or adventures, and who would   
insist on things. And that makes him very fascinating to her, as well as   
a challenge to overcome. 

[gesturing with his hands animatedly] 

So she can't just walk away from him -- it isn't only that they're   
soulmates, it's a kind of magnetic thing where sometimes they pull   
together and sometimes they push apart, you see. --That's what my   
Master thinks, at least, and Lord Namo tends to agree, though of   
course nobody except them can be sure, and not even them probably,   
given how oblivious they are to everyone else's feelings but their   
own. Even each other's, except as one manipulates the other by them.   
--Though the Weaver thinks they're just selfish brats who deserve   
each other, and that she's as stubborn and self-destructive as Miriel   
without any of Miriel's excuses . . . 

[he trails off -- Aredhel is glaring at him with a very lethal expression,   
while the rest of her family look carefully elsewhere, except for Eol, who   
seems caught between wanting to laugh at his spouse and to explode with   
indignation; the disguised Maia glances around at the Ten, concerned.] 

That wasn't a very diplomatic thing to say, was it? 

[the Captain shakes his head solemnly] 

--Threnody! When will I learn to keep quiet sometimes? 

[Aredhel stands up, sheathing her dagger with a snap] 

**Aredhel**: [setting her right hand on the hilt of her sword]   
If you're going to talk about me in such an insulting fashion, infant,   
you're going to give me satisfaction for it. 

**Apprentice**: [mildly]   
I don't think I'm supposed to get into fights with the patients while   
I'm supposed to be keeping the peace. 

**Aredhel**: [tossing her head]   
I'll be happy to trounce you regardless. 

**Aglon**: [looking more cheerful at last]   
This is going to be good. 

**Apprentice**: [same bland tone]   
I'm pretty sure, however, that I'm allowed to defend myself if I must. 

[with a dangerously-pleasant smile] 

I'm willing to chance being wrong and a reprimand. 

**Captain**: [reluctantly to Aredhel]   
Highness, I really wouldn't if I were you -- he's not half bad, and you   
haven't any real combat experience against armed opponents, either. 

**Aredhel**: [whirling on him]   
How dare you insult me that way!? 

**Captain**: [raising his eyebrows]   
How is a fact an insult? 

**Aredhel**: [outraged]   
Ingold! Make your people stop slandering me -- I am not a Kinslayer! 

**Fourth Guard**: [aside to one of his comrades]   
How can she say that? 

**Warrior**: [shrugging]   
She believes it. 

**Captain**: [with a very askance Look]   
I was talking about the giant spiders, Princess. I don't think they've   
developed tool-using skills, at least. --Though it is interesting that   
you assumed I was talking about Alqualonde, when actually I was trying   
to spare you from being badly thrashed. 

[the Lord Warden of Aglon gives him a dubious frown at that last statement] 

**Fourth Guard**: [getting louder as he gets more agitated thinking about it]   
But how? --Denial about the fighting, or that we're all kin? 

[his friend nods] 

**Warrior**:   
The latter, I think. 

**Aredhel**: [turning aggrievedly to face the dead High King]   
Father! Make them stop it! 

**Fingolfin**: [edged patience]   
'Feiniel child, you know I can't do that. I could request that they cease,   
and your cousin's folk would very likely honour that for their kindness   
to me, but I cannot bind any spirit here to anything. My kingship here   
is entirely honorary, and I have no power here whatsoever. 

**Aredhel**: [sullen]   
You're the best warrior in the Halls. 

**Fingolfin**: [very stern, approaching angry]   
You wish me to fight those who utter only the truth, and punish them for   
that? Daughter, I am ashamed for you. 

**Eol**:   
See, my dear? Not even your own family wants you about. You should have   
stayed with me, I'm telling you -- again. 

**Aredhel**:   
Shut up, Orc-spawn! 

**Captain**: [righteously]   
Now I never called him that, but I get in trouble with her for being   
rude to him. 

**Aredhel**:   
You shut up too. --You're nearly as much of a Dark-elf as he is, anyway. 

**Ambassador**: [shaking his head]   
It really is a good thing that your father's marchwardens refused to bring   
her into the Kingdom, I must say, my Princess, given such violence and   
recklessness of nature -- can you imagine what would happen at a banquet   
with her in attendance? 

**Luthien**: [trying very hard not to laugh but failing]   
That isn't very kind, but you do have a point-- 

**Elenwe**: [to Amarie, wonderingly]   
I do vow, she hath full so froward a temper as Lord Osse in his ragings. 

[Amarie checks, not wanting to agree with a rebel Vanya, but fighting a smile   
and losing] 

**Amarie**: [shortly]   
--Aye. 

[the Noldor princess is half frantic with anger and hurt feelings, beset on   
all sides and unable to fix on a target to vent her fury upon] 

**Aredhel**:   
I hate you all! 

[her husband shakes his head pityingly] 

**Eol**:   
Haven't you realized yet that I'm the only person in the entire world   
who's willing to put up with you, my love? Though-- 

[with a partly-feigned bewilderment] 

--I'm really not sure why I do. 

**Aredhel**: [voice shaking with rage]   
Oh, you are truly going to regret that-- 

[she starts towards him, stalking through the map which curls about her   
ankles like mist before re-coalescing] 

**Eol**: [unimpressed]   
Many, many, many years now, my own, many years-- 

[as she stomps up to where he is reclining lazily, reaching as if to drag   
him upright by the gorget of his armour, he sweeps her ankles out from under   
her with his own foot and jumps up as quickly as she does, recovering, and   
both of them draw their swords. Before anyone else can interfere, Luthien   
also springs to her feet, very agitated, and shouts at them:] 

**Luthien**:   
Stop it! Stop mauling each other and listen! 

**Eol**: [mock sincerity]   
Ah, Melian's daughter is going to bestow some of her vast wisdom and   
understanding upon us -- my, what have we done to be so blessed? 

**Luthien**: [ignoring his rudeness, passionately]   
You could have chosen to be awakened by her to a world so much wider and   
brighter than Nan Elmoth and your heart. 

[to Aredhel] 

You could have chosen to learn stillness and contemplation of things   
you'd thought beneath you, from him, for your part. Both of you could   
have striven to heal each other's lacks, and been strong where the   
other was weak or wounded, and grown -- but instead you stayed where   
you were, giving nothing, grinding and tearing each other down like   
the Enemy's minions-- 

**Aredhel**: [snarling, starting towards Luthien]   
How dare you -- you apologize to me, you barefoot savage, or I'll-- 

[Luthien raises her hand, palm outward, towards the Noldor lady] 

**Luthien**: [her voice echoing loudly with power]   
Hold--! 

[Aredhel is stopped in her tracks -- as Eol moves forward, his kinswoman   
lifts her other hand and makes him halt as well. As she speaks the   
following lines in an icy declaration, the memory of her shadowcloak   
appears around her, the folds stirring like finest silk in a restless   
draft. They cannot interrupt her, or even look away.] 

--Well-matched indeed are you, who have neither hope nor mercy in your   
love, but only selfishness and greed. 

[to Aredhel] 

Lady, rest now from your discontent and have peace, for so long as you will-- 

[to Eol] 

--And you, kinsman, from the memory of your grievances, in hopes that you   
may learn grief instead-- 

[before her upraised hands they vanish, both wearing near-identical expressions   
of disconcerted astonishment. As she seats herself again her cape disappears once   
more; her matter-of-fact attitude markedly in contrast to the others around her,   
particularly the dead, though only two give any audible sign of surprise -- most   
are simply too shocked to do more than stare, though a few among the ghostly   
following of House Finarfin look somewhat smug.] 

**Huan**:   
[short surprised bark] 

**Teler Maid**:   
Oh! 

[wide-eyed, looking at the Captain] 

Was that what you meant, when you said 'twould soon be better sport than   
setting a sudden blaze about her knife? 

[he nods once, solemnly] 

--But how did you know that would follow . . . 

[she trails off, frowning thoughtfully at the Doriathrin princess; on the other   
side of the steps the Princes look at each other] 

**Aegnor**: [shocked]   
How can she do that? 

[his brother only shrugs, as astounded; to their eldest, rather manically:] 

Ingold, you can't do that -- why can Luthien? 

[Finrod only shrugs in turn; when Aegnor addresses his cousin it is warily and   
very respectful, now] 

Luthien, how did you do that? 

**Luthien**:   
That's my power. That's what I do. Dreams and visions and healing, all   
mixed up together. It's easy, once I figured out how to focus it. 

[the Princes look at each other with rather wild expressions and not a little   
dismay, and are very quiet] 

**Teler Maid**:   
But where did they go? 

**Apprentice**:   
I was going to say that. 

[Luthien shrugs] 

**Luthien**:   
Wherever they wanted to be most. I didn't pry. 

**Apprentice**: [faintly]   
That's -- what my Master does, only -- you did it rather differently. 

[she raises her hands, deprecating his praise] 

**Luthien**:   
That's the only way I know how. It wasn't that hard -- by comparison,   
at least; the part of them that was crying out for help wasn't very   
deeply hidden. 

[there is still a distinct awe over the gathering, if not unmixed with   
resentment in some quarters] 

**Finrod**: [wickedly]   
Twelve feet tall -- and a battle-aura brighter than his-- 

[he nods towards his uncle, and Luthien elbows him lightly, trying not to smile] 

**Fingolfin**: [softly, but very earnest, to Luthien]   
--Thank you, your Highness. --Would you be so good as to continue in your   
reminiscences, if it please you? 

[she nods, pausing to reflect a moment] 

**Nerdanel**: [managing a dry, if somewhat brittle, humour despite all]   
Nay, belike thou'lt have thee something less of interruptions, hereafter. 

**Luthien**: [straight-faced innocence]   
--Probably.   


* * *

**SCENE V.xvi**

  
[Elsewhere -- the Corollaire] 

[Beren is still sitting in silence, now with his chin on his knees, looking   
out towards the Pass of Light, while Yavanna frowns at him with a concerned   
expression as she sets the rodent down to go about its rodenty life:] 

**Yavanna**:   
Are you being quiet because you're overwhelmed, or because you're focusing   
on everything around and trying to take it all in? 

**Beren**: [confused]   
Can't you tell? 

**Yavanna**:   
I can tell which of the many possibilities are most likely, but not which   
it is. Knowing you, either one is a reasonable guess. 

**Beren**: [thinking about it]   
Yeah. --A little of both, I guess. 

**Yavanna**:   
So, are you happier now? 

[he gives her a puzzled frown] 

Now that someone's recognized your efforts and told you "Good job" at   
last--? 

**Beren**: [looking down]   
Oh. 

[he appears embarrassed] 

I -- Yeah. Yeah, I guess so. Mostly I'm just-- 

[checks, frowning] 

--actually, I'm not. 

[he looks at her with a bit of surprise] 

I was going to say "tired," but that isn't true. --Still confused, though.   
A lot. 

**Yavanna**:   
About what? 

**Beren**:   
Everything. 

**Yavanna**:   
Well, no wonder, since Everything is beyond the ability of any of us   
to sort out. But then you've always been the ambitious sort. 

[out of nowhere she takes a shining garnetlike fruit, somewhat like an   
all-red nectarine, and looks at him inquiringly] 

**Yavanna**:   
Want some? 

**Beren**:   
Uh -- can I? 

**Yavanna**: [matter-of-factly]   
No, I'm inviting you so that I can contrarily refuse to oblige,   
afterwards. --What do you think? 

**Beren**: [sighing]   
That that was a dumb question. 

**Yavanna**:   
Very. 

[she twists the fruit in half and gives him one side -- as he is looking   
at it in fascination:] 

--Don't you dare ask me if that's real or not. 

**Beren**: [almost managing to keep a straight face]   
I wouldn't have dreamed of it, my Lady. 

[she gives him a narrow Look] 

Thought of it, sure -- but I wouldn't dare ask. 

[she gives him a friendly swat on the arm] 

It's beautiful. And tastes just as wonderful as it smells. 

**Yavanna**: [smugly]   
The jewels of my making are much more than just pretty to look at. 

**Beren**: [aside]   
I'm not even going to go near that one. 

[the Lady gives him a raised eyebrow] 

Family fights, bad enough -- between immortals? --Already done that. 

**Yavanna**:   
Hmph. Most of the time you're a prudent soul. 

**Beren**: [between mouthfuls]   
So -- your sister's Spring, right? 

[she nods, though her expression is a bit wry; he frowns as he wipes the   
juice from his fingers onto the hem of his outer tunic] 

You just have the one, right? 

**Yavanna**:   
That, too, is a bit -- dependent on your definition. Why? Did you   
meet her? 

**Beren**:   
Well, if she's the Spring, then I did. 

**Yavanna**:   
She is as much the beginning of all growth as I am Autumn. And our   
sister by love, Nessa, the high Summer of blooming roses and the swift   
young animals in their pride. But we are both -- all of us -- far more   
than any of our tasks. As are you, my Hunter. 

[he shakes his head a little, distracted, half-smiling] 

**Beren**:   
Is she -- just a little bit -- well, crazy? 

**Yavanna**: [suddenly stern and daunting]   
Did she harm you in any way? 

**Beren**: [quickly]   
No -- not at all. The opposite. She-- 

[he chuckles again] 

She was kind of cute, really. In a completely terrifying way. I-- 

[looking at Yavanna with a very confused expression] 

I was going to say she reminded me of Tinuviel before things fell   
apart, but-- 

[shaking his head] 

--it's the other way around, only -- I never met her before, so -- how-- 

[the Power sets her hand calmingly but very firmly on his shoulder] 

**Yavanna**:   
Was there ever a year of your life when the snows did not melt and the   
crocus and pheasants-eye bloom? When all beasts wild or tame, however   
old, did not leap like fawns in the new light? When the bees did not   
crawl out of their hollows and the little brown bats, and the swallows   
return from the southlands, all to dance upon the warming airs? --Then   
how should you not recognize the Ever-young, when met in the person of   
your own true love? 

[pause] 

**Beren**:   
But -- Tinuviel's Tinuviel, right? She's not -- not really Vana, too,   
is she? I mean -- she's herself . . .? 

**Yavanna**: [reassuring]   
--Always. As you are yourself, my Champion. 

[she strokes the hair from his brow gently] 

**Beren**: [puzzled]   
How come you call me that? 

**Yavanna**:   
Because it is true.   


* * *

_[to be continued...]_


	8. Act IV part IV Scene V xvii through xx

**ACT IV. BELOVED FOOL: BEYOND THE WESTERN SEA**   
**(Part IV)**   


* * *

  
**SCENE V.xvii**

[the Hall] 

[Finrod and his people are looking at Luthien with rather aghast looks;   
Fingolfin is carefully looking elsewhere] 

**Finrod**:   
You are joking, right? 

[she shakes her head] 

--Telumnar? 

[she nods] 

**Steward**:   
Perhaps you heard the name wrong, my Lady? 

**Luthien**: [shaking her head again]   
Not unless he doesn't know how to pronounce it himself. 

**Finrod**:   
But-- 

[he and the rest glance in utter bemusement at the Captain] 

Are you sure it wasn't a -- a jest at your expense? 

**Luthien**:   
Orodreth wasn't doing much joking in those days. 

**Finrod**:   
But -- Telumnar!? 

**Captain**: [serious]   
Perhaps there has been some misunderstanding, gentles. Are you quite sure   
that her Highness is speaking of the same individual? 

**Steward**: [aside]   
How many arrant fools by the name of Telumnar do we know? --How many are   
there, after all? 

**Captain**:   
She didn't say he was being an idiot, though -- my Lady, do you recollect   
well the Elf in question? He wasn't by any chance a thin-browed chap with   
an annoying habit of smirking knowingly at everything you said, as if he   
knew more than you but couldn't trouble himself to correct you? 

**Luthien**: [shrugging]   
I only met him once or twice at state dinners -- and I think he was at that   
party of Finduilas', now that I think back on it. Pretty much everyone was   
acting patronizing and knowing around me, anyway. Sorry. 

**Ranger**:   
Your Highness, did he tend to try to keep his profile at a five-sevenths   
angle to display his best side at all times, when he was talking to you? 

[several of the Ten snicker -- and Angrod works very hard at keeping a straight   
face; Luthien frowns] 

**Luthien**:   
Now that you mention it, he did seem to be striking poses most of the time.   
I thought he was favoring an injury, at first. 

[even Aegnor chuckles at that, though the mood quickly turns serious again] 

**Nerdanel**:   
Might safely to presume, then, the youngling did learn but little, else   
naught, for all his long travel eke travail? 

**Finrod**:   
You might indeed. 

[to Fingolfin] 

All right, I've been wanting to ask you this for over a yen, now -- and now   
you have to tell me the truth, uncle. Did you foist that fellow off on me   
because you were afraid you'd have a rebellion all of your own if you didn't   
get him out of your own chain of command? 

[everyone looks expectantly at the High King's shade. Long silence.] 

**Fingolfin**:   
I-- 

[grimacing, glaring in a mock-ferocious way at his nephew] 

I also had some hope, that your company and that of your companions would   
provide him with exemplar and inspiration to improve. --Though, 'tis true,   
I had come to fear him incorrigible by that time-- 

**Aegnor**: [to Angrod]   
Hah! Pay up; I told you so. 

[their uncle turns the glare on them] 

**Fingolfin**:   
--and so I judged that your greater wisdom, young Ingold, should find the   
best way to set him where he might work the least damage. 

**Elenwe**: [admiring]   
Tis deftly done, is't not? 

**Amarie**: [harsh]   
--What, pray? 

**Elenwe**:   
How my lord his father doth turn aside wrath with subtle guile, for his   
words they hold them brimful of praises, to make sweet wrath's bitterness   
-- yet eke mockery, yet nor so venomous that shall aught but sting, as   
salt water's smart, that doth cut when flattery doth 'gin to cloy. 

[to Finrod] 

-- For none other, I vouchsafe, save thee. Yon thornbrake snares of Noldorin   
subtlety be most unpleasing to my soul, do I win through and smite upon's   
conscience else turn back in weariest disarray, for defense cometh most   
naturally unto him. 

[Fingolfin looks mortified at this public deconstruction of his rhetoric; his   
brother and sister-in-law appear both interested and embarrassed for him. To   
the living Vanya:] 

Thy lord, my cousin yet warm --aye, and dauntless -- doth far surpass all   
others in such disport. 

**Amarie**: [coldly]   
That, I did mark well. 

**Ambassador**: [to Elenwe]   
My lady, do you not find this -- unguarded openness, of our present state   
distressing? 

**Elenwe**:   
Nay; how so? 

[he is nonplused by her tone and expression of childlike seriousness, & doesn't   
know what to say; she continues:] 

'Tis but the way this world is, e'en as without the rains do fall betimes,   
nor more sensible to feel distress upon it, than at dew's damp, or droplets'   
splash -- dost such trouble one, had best make no journeying, lest find   
thyself unexpected wet. 

**Finrod**: [rueful, to the Doriathrin Lord]   
My Vanyar kin have a rather -- different -- approach to life than even we   
Teler -- much simpler and far more direct. And much less concerned with   
appearances and public dignity than we Noldor. It can be -- disconcerting,   
even in life. 

**Ambassador**: [looking thoughtfully at him in turn]   
Indeed, I think I have seen such truths as you speak before this time,   
displayed in Menegroth, your Majesty. 

[it is Finrod's turn to be slightly embarrassed] 

**Elenwe**: [musing]   
Though in truth I ne'er did think to see yon solid floor of many fathoms   
riven o'er wave as 'twere but crumbled bread into wine. 

[Fingolfin winces] 

**Fingolfin**:   
Daughter, daughter, have mercy -- I rue thy losses, and I obey thy   
bidding now. 

**Nerdanel**: [wryly]   
Thou dost not so ill at it thyself, good my niece. 

[the Vanyar shade only shrugs] 

**Elenwe**:   
Long dwelt I amongst thy folk in Tirion to learn't. 

**Teler Maid**   
This Telumnar, he is a great fool, I dare to say? For I cannot place him   
in memory. 

**Steward**: [bleak]   
Much worse than that. He is one that will never admit he has erred, in   
any wise. He but changes the matter of his speech, when 'tis shown to him. 

**Apprentice**: [aside]   
Another one! I do hope my Master has judged me complete of patience before   
he comes along. 

[this gets him some rather askance Looks from the presently-dead] 

**First Guard**: [to the Captain]   
I still can't believe the Prince gave him your job. 

[the senior officer only shakes his head, looking bemused and dismayed at the idea] 

**Luthien**: [correcting]   
Not being in charge of your spies -- that went to Gwin, I'm pretty sure.   
He and Orodreth were closeted a lot, and there were other hints-- 

[breaking off] 

What? Did I say something wrong? 

[Finrod and his chief lords are exchanging looks of rueful humour] 

**Captain**:   
I ought to ask how you knew about that, Lady Luthien -- but I'm rather   
afraid of the answer. It's going to be more mystical demigod perception,   
isn't it-- 

[she is shaking her head] 

**Luthien**   
I heard about it from Dad-- 

[he looks relieved at her words] 

--after Mom told him. 

**Captain**:   
Ah. Right. 

**Luthien**:   
But I honestly don't know if she figured it out from watching all you   
interact, or if she just knew. We were all just used to her knowing   
everything. It came up once when Galadriel was pushing Mom a bit about   
how to run a kingdom, and she told her that it depended on being someone   
worthy of following, so that your followers would be worthy of your trust   
-- and then told her to follow her oldest brother's example. Dad said   
something about how important it was to have people you could rely on to   
both hear and speak for you, to be your senses where you couldn't be,   
yourself, and your voice-- 

[looking from him to the Steward and back again] 

--and Galadriel challenged him if he knew which of you was which, and   
Mom said obviously, both, it just depended. 

[quickly reassuring] 

This was a private family discussion, it wasn't as though everyone in   
Doriath knew you were more than just military. 

**Finrod**:   
Why do people keep underestimating you, cousin? 

**Captain**: [speaking as if to reassure himself]   
Gwindor's a good lad -- heart in the right place, if still a little wet   
behind the ears. 

**Finrod**: [mild]   
He isn't all that much younger than we are, you know. 

[pause] 

**Captain**:   
I suppose he isn't, at that. The next generation just seem so much more   
uncertain of themselves than we were. --Not really surprising, given the   
hash we made of everything, I suppose-- 

**Aegnor**: [cutting]   
Speak for yourself. 

[Angrod elbows him hard] 

**Huan**:   
[low prolonged growl] 

[the Captain stops talking and stares straight ahead; his former colleague   
leans around and turns her fiercest glare on Finrod's brother] 

**Teler Maid**:   
My lord, I tell you, I shall most assuredly make report of your   
unmannerliness to Lady Earwen, when I am alive once again, and let   
her for to know of every least rude word I did hear of you! 

[Aegnor looks suddenly daunted at this, though he does not apologize or   
meet her angry gaze] 

**Apprentice**: [tolerant]   
Well, as a matter of fact, Maiwe, that isn't going to be possible.   
Once you're rehoused, the memory of this place will fade very quickly. 

**Teler Maid**:   
I shall manage it, nonetheless, let you wait, and I vow you shall see! 

**Apprentice**:   
But-- 

**Luthien**: [raising her voice a little, cutting them off]   
--In any case, I am certain no one here has done anything approaching the   
level of stupidity of sending my father a letter announcing that his nephew   
had been done away with and his daughter about to be wed to a multiple   
murderer, and advising him not to object if he knew what was good for him. 

**Steward**:   
Oh, yes, that-- 

[he sighs, shaking his head in disbelief, Finrod leans forward and gives   
him a puzzled look] 

**Finrod**:   
What? 

**Third Guard**:   
Beren told us, Sir -- oh, that's right, you weren't here then. It was-- 

**Finrod**: [flatly]   
--Let me guess. Curufin. 

**Luthien**:   
Writing for the both of them. It's funny, because you'd think that would   
have made them even angrier at me, for having got myself into such a   
situation, but instead Dad was so furious with House Feanor that he   
actually started thinking a little better of Beren-- 

[to her compatriot] 

--isn't that right? 

**Ambassador**: [nods]   
Albeit-- 

[he checks, then goes on with some reluctance at her Look] 

That was in part -- in part, not all -- attributable to the fact of the   
Lord of Dorthonion's mortality, and your consequent eventual freedom from   
any such bad match. 

[he flinches under her glare, but this looking-away brings him into contact   
with Nerdanel] 

I do apologize, my lady. 

[she makes a dismissive gesture with her hand, unable or unwilling to speak   
just then] 

**Luthien**:   
Anyhow, he decided he was going to solve the problem at least partially,   
by sending Celegorm West, and rescuing me, so that I wouldn't ever have   
to see him again. That got another fight going between him and Mom, over   
the morality of offensive warfare and the problem that killing Kinslayers   
makes you one just as much yourself, but he went ahead and got an invasion   
force together without her approval. 

[Finrod and his followers look at each other, completely horrified] 

**Warrior**: [stricken]   
The Greycloak invaded Nargothrond? 

**Fourth Guard**:   
Don't be silly -- we'd have heard about it firsthand before now. 

[but he still looks shaken too] 

**Luthien**: [grim pleasure]   
I'm glad somebody takes the possibility seriously. 

**Finrod**: [frowning]   
They really didn't think -- what, that your father would react with   
devastating decisiveness upon receiving such a missive, or that he   
would be capable of carrying out such attempt? 

[Luthien raises her hands helplessly] 

**Luthien**:   
I don't know. Both, I guess. 

[sighing] 

It worked out strangely enough, because just as they were getting ready   
to go -- Dad and Mablung and Beleg and all our warriors -- they got word   
of another Enemy incursion along the frontier, and went to deal with that   
instead, and then by the time that was done with, Huan and I were already   
long gone from Nargothrond, and then after he found that out he decided   
it was useless to try to hunt me down again, after the first time had gone   
so poorly, and to try for a diplomatic appeal to Lord Maedhros against his   
younger siblings, who after all are nominally under his authority and were   
moving back in with him. 

[she looks over at the Ambassador, rather sadly] 

--Of course, I wasn't there for any of this, and only heard about it after   
the fact, so if I'm getting any of it wrong, you ought to correct me. 

[he shakes his head, his expression somber.] 

**Captain**:   
Your Highness, how did King Elu discover that you'd flown again? 

**Luthien**:   
Beleg sneaked in and listened to the gossip about it all. 

[the Captain puts his head down on his knees with a groan] 

**Ranger**: [earnestly]   
Sir, this is Cuthalion we're talking about, not some random stranger. 

**Finrod**: [same tone]   
Nor would he have tripped the wardings, not being a minion of the Dark Lord. 

**Teler Maid**: [to the Captain, concerned]   
What troubles you? 

[he only shakes his head, not looking up] 

**Finarfin**:   
Aye, wherefore this ado of thine? 

**Captain**: [muffled]   
Professional humiliation. 

[looking up, grimacing] 

My people let an intruder just traipse through the Guarded Plain and   
glean all the private business of the City from their conversing, and   
then leave, without ever so much as noticing a blade of grass out of   
place throughout. I trained them better than that -- I thought. And   
with Captain Telumnar in charge of defenses, everything falls apart   
in a matter of months! It doesn't sound like Lord Gwindor was getting   
any better cooperation, either. 

**Steward**: [quietly]   
You're forgetting another factor, as you judge them -- and yourself --   
too harshly. 

**Captain**: [scornful]   
What? 

**Steward**:   
Sorrow. You cannot justly expect them to be as keen and alert as otherwise,   
when most assuredly the same grief, dismay, uncertainty and guilt afflicted   
them as ruled in the City proper, as we have heard recounted, soon and late,   
by our shadowy and sometimes guest. They had not you, and that shall have   
been no light matter, with all the rest of it. 

**Captain**:   
Then-- 

[checks, with a bitter expression] 

No. I can't say that. Though I think they chose wrong, if then they had   
stayed faithful it's not unlikely they would have partook of our doom,   
too, and-- 

[he looks across where the Youngest Ranger is dreaming by the water, and then   
at his Noldor follower and the rest of the Ten, grimly] 

--I couldn't have borne more, and yet I still think their misery both just   
and insufficient, and I can't sort it out in my own heart, and I'd like to   
scruff them and shake them all until their eyes rattle for being idiots,   
the more stupidity I hear about. 

[Finrod gives him a very understanding Look, nodding in agreement; Angrod stares   
pointedly at his nearest sibling, who stares obstinately into the distance.] 

**Apprentice**: [reasonable]   
But you can't do anything to affect what happens there now. 

**Captain**: [bleak]   
I know. --I know. 

[he rests his forehead on his arms, closing his eyes] 

**Huan**:   
[thin whine] 

[the Hound licks the side of his face without getting any response. The Elf   
of Alqualonde regards her friend with a concerned expression.] 

**Teler Maid**:   
Your City was your ship, your waverunner, for you. 

[he nods without looking up] 

Then no words-- 

[she gives the disguised Maia a Look] 

--shall e'er truly serve to take the hurt of the loss of your Work   
from you. 

[she rests her hand on his bowed head and then on his nearer hand, oblivious   
to the impressed surprise shared by the Ten and Nienna's student who have been   
witness to her self-centered neediness, at this her first gesture of outreach   
to another. The Captain straightens and grips her fingers before making a sweeping   
gesture of dismissal which also conveys a distinct element of relinquishment.] 

**Captain**: [sighing]   
The fate of Nargothrond -- so far as it ever was -- is out of my hands   
now. I know that. The regret -- that doesn't end. 

[he leans back against the Lord of Dogs, his expression resigned but sad,   
indifferent to the varied looks of concern, understanding, or displeasure   
directed his way] 

**Finrod**: [neutral]   
I'm sure Orodreth will have figured it out by now and appointed someone   
more competent and less convinced of it, and found Telumnar an appointment   
with a grander-sounding title and no leverage to go with it. 

[aside, seething:] 

Invading. My City. --Those bloody fools! 

**First Guard**: [frowning, to his companions]   
I'm surprised Beren mentioned nothing of this when he talked about   
the letter. 

**Luthien**: [carefully]   
Beren -- was a little preoccupied in Menegroth, then, and I'm not sure   
how much of an impression it made on him at that point, particularly   
since it hadn't happened. There were other aspects of that episode which   
affected him more, unfortunately-- 

[a touch sarcastic] 

--such as the fact that we'd missed a detachment of Enemy fighters by only   
a few -- score -- leagues of rough terrain and I'd not known about it at all. 

[addressing Nerdanel, who has given up even pretending to draw] 

At least Celegorm was genuinely motivated -- at least in part -- by a desire   
to keep me safe in comfort and civilization, as he saw it-- 

[aside] 

--at least at that point. 

**Finarfin**:   
For my part, that none of mine own folk e'er did aid thee, nor aught but   
suffer thee to stay benighted and imprisoned meanwhiles, the while they   
did indulge upon false gaiety, doth trouble my heart full measure with   
all the rest of't. 

**Fingolfin**: [indignant]   
Indeed, it amazes me beyond words' power to describe, that among all our   
kindred there, not one had conscience nor courage to speak truth and stand   
beside you in this, Highness. Even in House Feanor's entourage, there should   
have been more than a few who did not lack the clarity of thought and   
strength of will to hold firm against wrongdoing! 

[the Feanorian shade darts a quick, nervous glance at the dead High King] 

**Luthien**: [with a fatalistic shrug]   
They weren't very happy about it ultimately either. A lot of Curufin's   
picked guards took to hiding where I couldn't see them from the door when   
it was their turn to guard me, after I took to haranguing them about their   
guest-duty and familial obligations. 

[narrowing her brows] 

The bit they hated the most, besides my songs, was the riddle Beren taught   
me, that one about the cuckoo. 

[Aegnor and Angrod exchange silent Looks] 

**Teler Maid**:   
What is a -- a cuckoo? 

**Captain**:   
It's what we call a bell-bird, here. 

[half to himself] 

They wouldn't like that, would they . . . 

**Ambassador**:   
How does it go, this mortal wit, my Princess? 

[she lifts her head defiantly, though he was not being sarcastic just then] 

**Luthien**:   
--Myself in that day was given up for dead,   
fatherless, motherless. I had no life then,   
no friend nor elder to turn to. Then came another.   
She guarded me well, giving me garments   
and strong protection, held me and cherished   
as dearly as her own. Even so in her shelter   
I soon grew high-hearted among strangers,   
striving ever as my spirit must, though but a guest.   
Yet still she sheltered me, until I grew stronger   
to set my sights wider. She suffered the loss   
of her own sons and daughters for that deed. 

[there are mixed reactions -- those of Aman do not understand all the   
connotations, while those hailing from Beleriand get it, but the Ten look   
more vindictively pleased, while Finrod's kinsmen angry-grim, and the   
Warden of Aglon insulted and resentful] 

**Teler Maid**:   
How means yon riddle a bell-bird? 

**Captain**:   
In the woods back home, the cuckoos lay their eggs in the nests of   
unsuspecting thrushes and warblers when the parents are foraging, and   
then go off, leaving their nestlings to hatch and be reared by the   
other birds. 

**Teler Maid**: [outraged]   
Why, that is most unfair, and cheating, indeed! 

[the Feanorian lord sneers at her naivete] 

**Captain**:   
Gets worse -- they're not content to skive off the parents and take some   
of the other chicks' share, they go further and fling out the real young   
ones, so that they can get all the food and care for themselves. Then   
after they've destroyed their hosts' family, they fly off and do the same   
thing themselves to some other victim. 

**Apprentice**:   
That's disgusting. 

[pause] 

And it does fit, in a peculiar sort of way. 

[Finarfin takes his sister-in-law's hand in a gesture intended to comfort,   
if not effective] 

**Luthien**: [forlorn]   
Yes, but it didn't work. 

**Finrod**:   
Not the way you intended, but certainly it had some influence after,   
or else our cousins would still be in power there. Probably in authority,   
too, if not legitimate, since it sounds as though they had designs against   
Orodreth, if Celegorm was talking about making himself King over all   
southern Beleriand. Undoubtedly your exhortations were very much in   
everyone's hearts when the counter-coup took place. 

**Luthien**: [unhappily]   
But is that really a good thing? What with you being dead, mightn't it   
be more practical to have a strong leadership, at least, regardless of   
the justice of it, simply for the common good? Because of the War? 

[a distinct chill settles upon all present, except Finrod himself, who reaches   
out and takes firm hold of both her hands] 

**Finrod**:   
A King and his Steward who didn't know enough not to antagonize --   
further -- their largest and longest-ruling neighbor, whose support   
covers a broad ethnic base and whose territorial integrity alone has   
not been compromised during the recent defeats? To put it bluntly --   
and insulting nobody present -- Celegorm has less political awareness,   
I'm afraid, than does Lord Huan, who hasn't any obligations of diplomacy   
nor would any reasonably expect him, as pack leader, to have. Close   
contact with those our cousins over an extended time made it increasingly   
clear to me why Maedhros chose to sequester them prudently a long ways   
from civilized society, where they weren't likely to antagonize any other   
Elves outside their own followings. 

[his siblings bridle at this, but check when they see he is teasing them,   
with a slight twinkle in his expression as he gives them a sidelong Look] 

**Aegnor**: [very gruff]   
It isn't funny. 

**Finrod**:   
Parts of it are, nonetheless. 

[turning back to Luthien] 

--Had our kinsmen remained in charge, your father would have invaded   
Nargothrond, would he not? 

[Luthien nods grimly] 

And that wouldn't have been a good thing. 

**Luthien**: [almost whispering]   
No. 

[the Sea-elf has been frowning to herself in concentration, and finally   
speaks out again] 

**Teler Maid**:   
Why make your bell-birds yonder such fell murder, when they need not   
kill to feed themselves, where 'tis fodder free-growing for all the   
birds of the wood? 

**Finrod**:   
It's the Marring, Sea-Mew. Everything fights itself to some extent,   
in Middle-earth, needful or not. And they'd rather not work for what   
they need, when others will do it for them. 

**Teler Maid**: [wrapping her arms around her knees and leaning her chin on them]   
Like our ships. 

[simultaneous] 

**Finarfin:**   
**Amarie**: [very sadly]   
Aye. 

**Finrod**: [lecturing]   
Luthien, none of this is your fault. No more than it's Beren's -- you   
happened to wander into the way of our Doom, just as he did, and you're   
no more to be blamed for what followed on that than you are for falling   
in love in the first place. You wouldn't blame the Sea-Mew here, any more   
than your uncle my grandfather, for the fact that those vessels were   
coveted and appropriated by our cousins? The uncoerced behaviour of other   
persons in or out of Nargothrond is not attributable to your own. 

**Luthien**:   
I know that. But-- 

[taut] 

--I heard a great deal of the opposite of that, in and out of Nargothrond. 

[heavy silence] 

**Soldier**: [somewhat shyly]   
My Lady-- 

[as she turns to look directly at him he loses his hesitancy] 

--could you perchance tell us of our own kin and other friends we left   
behind back home? 

**Luthien**:   
Of course-- 

[checks] 

I mean -- as best I can -- but I'm afraid it might not be very well   
at all. I -- met some of your nearest there, more than I know, probably,   
but -- they didn't all identify themselves as such, and those who did-- 

[getting quieter and more unhappy] 

--tended to blame all of you as much as they did us. 

[the Apprentice straightens where he is sitting, watching with a somewhat   
detached interest, as might be expected of a friendly onlooker at a family   
reunion, and his expression grows graver] 

**Soldier**: [shaking his head]   
I wouldn't expect any different, given what I left to, and the same for   
nigh us all, I think-- 

[his friends also nod, their expressions bittersweet as his] 

--but still it's home, and hearth, and memory of better days, better   
than naught-- 

[Luthien nods in answer, reaching out her hands towards the Ten] 

**Luthien**: [a little choked up]   
Give me their names and manners, and I'll do my best to give report of them-- 

**Apprentice**: [in a worried, responsible tone]   
I don't think that's really a good idea. 

[she turns sharply to gaze at him] 

**Luthien**: [short]   
Why not? 

**Apprentice**:   
Well -- because -- you're supposed to be leaving the conflicts of the past   
behind here. It's-- 

**Luthien**: [cutting him off]   
Isn't it about healing? 

**Apprentice**: [defensive, responsible, and increasingly harried]   
Yes and reopening old wounds and resentments won't assist that, now will it? 

**Luthien**:   
But-- 

**Finrod**: [talking right over her]   
I don't see anyone putting a stop to our asking -- or even giving stringent   
warnings against it. 

**Apprentice**:   
Yes, but-- 

**Finrod**: [going on regardless]   
In fact, I've never heard of anyone being forbidden to send their dead   
relatives messages -- even if they don't often get answered -- so by   
extension it doesn't seem as though there'd be any problem with us   
asking after our living ones-- 

**Apprentice**:   
--there's no one else here to-- 

**Finrod**: [still talking over him]   
-- as much as we want. No one told me I couldn't send an apology to my   
lady, after all -- except for her, that is-- 

[Amarie clenches fists and teeth on a retort] 

**Angrod**:   
No, it's just you, you get exceptions made for you all the time-- 

**Finrod**:   
No. I merely do things nobody else does, and then the Powers that are here   
have to come up with some way to deal with them. --You should try it some time. 

**Luthien**: [slightly manic tone and expression]   
I am. 

**Fingolfin**: [pained exasperation]   
Might we please leave the rest of our family out of this? 

[his nephews don't notice] 

**Aegnor**:   
And actually that isn't true, because people who don't stop pestering   
their dead relations are told off to give them peace and quiet to decide   
in, and stop hounding them with pleas meanwhile. 

**Fingolfin**: [grimly]   
Aegnor-- 

**Finrod**:   
But that's only temporary-- 

**Fingolfin**: [raising his voice loudly for the first time]   
--Grinding Ice!! Will you boys leave your grandfather's memory in peace?! 

[silence] 

**Finrod**:   
Sorry, Father -- Uncle -- Aunt 'Danel. 

**Angrod**:   
--Sorry. 

[Aegnor bows his head in stiff apology, while their elders share Looks of mild exasperation] 

**Fingolfin**: [offhand]   
You see, my brother, they're not irreverent because they are dead,   
but because death of itself suffices not to diminish overconfidence,   
unmindfulness, obstinacy, pride, or-- 

[glancing from his nephews to pass with a slow cool gaze over their followers] 

--a twisted sense of what is deemed humorous. 

**Captain**: [innocent]   
I beg your pardon, Sire, but surely you're not referring to any of the   
present company? 

**Aegnor**: [aside, exasperated]   
Is there no end to your stupid jokes?: 

**Fingolfin**: [equally wickedly bland]   
But of course not, friends. 

[the Apprentice shakes his head helplessly, and settles down again leaning   
his chin on his hand as he gives up trying to excercise any control -- while   
behind him the orb of the palantir flashes again, quite unnoticed.] 

* * *

**SCENE Vb.xviii**

[Elsewhere: the Corollaire] 

**Beren**:   
At the risk of sounding awful sorry for myself -- I've gotta say you   
must be pretty disappointed in me. And hard up for Servants. 

**Yavanna**:   
Why would you think so? 

**Beren**: [staring out over the plain]   
Because it didn't matter in the end. You try, and you try, and you do the   
best you can -- and some bastard comes along and smashes down everything   
that you built up over the years, and you fight him off and put it back   
together again, and it just happens all over again, and you can't defend   
it all, and each time there's less to fix, and whatever you manage to save   
means that there's something else that you're not protecting, and eventually   
there's nothing left because it's so much faster to burn things down than   
to build them. And nothing can grow when everything's being burned and   
trampled and no one's there to look after things. And finally you have to   
go, and whatever you did is lost and ruined. 

[he is struggling to keep from breaking down, his voice unsteady as he finishes] 

**Yavanna**: [a bit sniffly, but proud-sounding]   
Yes. Yes, that's it exactly. I knew you'd understand. 

[he gives her a strange Look] 

It doesn't stop hurting even after thousands of years. 

**Beren**: [surprised]   
I was talking about -- myself. About us. 

[smaller voice] 

And you. --Not just you. --Ma'am. 

[she looks intensely into his eyes, until his embarrassment and self-   
consciousness fade leaving behind only the earnest effort to understand] 

I never realized -- that you saw us that way. It seems -- like we'd be,   
be just too small for you -- for you to notice. 

[wordlessly she closes her hand and then opens it, like a conjurer doing a   
trick, with something tiny -- a pebble perhaps, lying in the middle of her   
palm. As he frowns at it, she folds her fingers shut and then opens them   
again -- and something bright, like a dragonfly-sized metallic green-and-   
gold bumblebee buzzes forth, remaining in a kind of orbit around her --   
Beren stares, amazed, trying to figure out what it is, while the Earthqueen   
smiles, and beckons it closer, until it settles on her forefinger, briefly   
at rest. Recognizing the avian nature of it, he gasps in amazement, and the   
hummingbird takes flight again, attracted to the flowers now rising high   
over the grass where Vana left them.] 

**Beren**:   
That -- is that real? 

[laughs at himself, shaking his head] 

What is it? I guess it must be one of those creatures that there's only   
Quenya names for because they don't exist back home. --But that one -- was   
it real, or did you just make it to show me that? And the vole, only they   
don't usually have ears like that -- I mean, are they just going to disappear   
when you stop thinking about them? Or are they real like me, at least? 

**Yavanna**: [amused]   
You're worried about little animals that might be imaginary. Do you still   
wonder why you're my Champion? 

[reassuringly] 

Even hummingbirds dream, though they don't rest much. 

**Beren**:   
So when a -- hummingbird -- dreams, it dreams about you. 

**Yavanna**: [shrugging]   
About being a hummingbird. I simply called it over. Very few people pay   
much attention to us, you know. Even here. Quite properly -- this isn't   
for us, after all. 

[as he still looks confused] 

The Song. Arda. It's for all of you. 

**Beren**:   
Oh. Okay, I see. --Are their eggs really the size of small beans? 

[she nods] 

That's hard to believe. All right, I get that if you care about a bird   
that's not much bigger than a big bug, then it's not impossible for you   
to know about or care about any of us, but that just leaves me even more   
confused. 

**Yavanna**:   
And you're quite correct. There's too much of Ea for any one of us to attend   
to every aspect of all parts of it. That's why it goes without requiring   
interference, mostly -- why we made it that way. You don't think that I have   
to come and pollinate every seed and ripen every grain and berry by hand, do   
you? As if there's enough time for that! We're much better artists than that.   
Things look after themselves, except when Melkor breaks them. 

**Beren**: [noncommittally]   
That seems to happen a lot, though. 

**Yavanna**:   
That's why we specialize. If I were to allow myself to get as upset about   
everything of mine that's been wrecked -- let alone everyone else's Work   
-- as they deserved, I wouldn't be able to function. None of us could.   
And that would be very bad for the world. 

**Beren**: [neutral]   
I thought you didn't do everything yourself, though. 

**Yavanna**:   
You were never lord in your own hall, with your lady at your side -- but   
your experience and wits should still suffice to tell you, what happens   
when those who order the moving of others cease to attend. 

[after a second he looks down] 

**Beren**:   
Yeah. It can't go on very long. After -- after my aunt died, my folks did   
what needed to be done but if my uncle hadn't pulled himself out of it,   
he wouldn't really have been Beor any more, even if we still would've   
called him that out of politeness. 'Cause somebody had to make decisions   
and get stuff done. 

**Yavanna**:   
But your parents did not do all those tasks themselves, surely? 

**Beren**:   
No. They just had to -- be there, mostly, so people could know that   
everything was okay enough for them to do their own work and not worry   
about -- well, everything. They had to do it while my uncle was in   
mourning and being with my cousins, because he couldn't focus on anything   
else then. 

[pause -- he looks at her very seriously, working his way through it:] 

That's -- that's Her job, isn't it? Because somebody has to. Because the   
world deserves it. Because -- we deserve it. 

[she nods] 

But the day's work still has to be done and somebody has to make sure   
there's enough food in the barns and the cellars for winter. Somebody   
has to greet travelers and make the little ones toys and teach them   
stories even if you feel like it doesn't matter if the sun comes up   
ever again. It has to keep going. 

**Yavanna**: [meaningfully]   
You do understand. 

**Beren**: [wistful]   
Is -- Is it true it would destroy Beleriand, for you all to go there and   
fight Morgoth up in the far North even? I mean -- I'm not trying to say   
they were lying to me, but -- are you sure they're not wrong? Maybe? 

**Yavanna**:   
You do know that the mountains of your birthplace were made in the course   
of the last war? I mean really know, not just one more strange thing that   
you've heard the Eldar say that sort of skates past your self's awareness   
the way a leaf might drift past you in a stream, there and then gone from   
your mind the next moment? 

**Beren**:   
Um . . . yeah . . . 

[giving her a sidelong Look] 

How? 

[she shrugs] 

**Yavanna**:   
Unfortunately that part of the earth isn't my field, if you'll excuse the   
joke -- such a curious thing, using words as toys, I still don't understand   
how the Eldar came up with it -- but my husband's, and when he starts talking   
about subduction and transverse faults and so on, my mind starts glazing over.   
The best way I can explain it is that mountains have to come from somewhere,   
and something has to go in where they used to be; you can't just have nothing,   
not within the World. Look-- 

[she spreads out the hem of her skirt in front of her and manifests a handful of   
fine sand, sprinkling it over the fabric so that it fills up between where the   
grass makes rises in the cloth] 

This is water. It goes wherever the ground is lowest, you know that. 

**Beren**:   
Because it's always trying to get back to its home. 

[she nods. Sprinkling a handful of small flower petals in between, covering the   
rest of the cloth] 

**Yavanna**:   
This is everything else. Now-- 

[she pinches up part of the hem] 

--this is what happens when you lift up a mountain in the middle of it.   
Sort of. 

[as she pulls the tented cloth higher, all the sand and organic matter pours   
together and starts running into the grass] 

Aule would laugh at me and tell you this was all wrong, and then go into   
an explanation that would leave you thinking that the earth was really   
made out of numbers instead, but as analogies go, it's pretty accurate   
really. You have to imagine that it's happening in fits and starts and   
that the fabric of the crust is more brittle in places and so it rips   
and the hot melted parts that keep everything going are coming out through   
the holes. 

[he points to a place where some of the biomass has caught in a fold] 

**Beren**: [very quietly]   
There's still a little bit left. 

**Yavanna**:   
How is it doing? 

[pause] 

It looks all mixed together to me. 

[Beren doesn't say anything] 

Something would survive. It did the first time, and last time as well. But   
the ocean will move in where the ground pushes in-- 

[she presses down the edge of her skirt into the grass, which dips over the   
hem as the remaining sand spills off] 

--and the fires which come up will burn what is near them, and that will   
cause storms much worse than the seasonal ones-- 

[she blows at the flower petals, which drift away] 

--and what was done to Dorthonion in the course of trying to chivy you out   
will seem like nothing by comparison. 

[pause] 

Do you really want that to happen to Middle-earth? Even if it does come   
as the price of Melkor's defeat? 

[he shakes his head, not looking up. She smoothes his hair and rubs his back   
in a consoling gesture] 

--Neither do I. 

* * *

**SCENE V.xix**

[The Hall] 

**Finrod**: [gently chiding tone]   
You should have come to visit us before the War broke out. 

**Luthien**: [bittersweet smile]   
That's what I said to Finduilas . . . 

[looks around] 

Where is that dog? Huan, you have to come here, you're the hero of this   
part -- come down where I can praise you properly. 

[reluctantly the Hound gets up, still skulking rather, and squeezes his way   
through the company, who edge aside to make room for him. He hunkers down   
behind Luthien on the other side, (since the space in front of the steps is   
now full of map) and puts his head across her lap. She gives him a quick kiss   
on the forehead and uses him quite casually as an armrest during the following   
exchanges. During all this movement Aredhel and Eol reappear, silently and   
somewhat tenuously, off to one side of the dais. They look about, hackles   
raised, daring anyone to notice or comment. There is something slightly   
different about their appearance, but hard to say what. Only now do they look   
at each other, with closed expressions:] 

[simultaneous] 

**Eol**:   
--Don't say anything.   
**Aredhel**:   
--Shut up. 

[overlapping] 

**Eol**:   
--It means nothing-- 

**Aredhel**:   
--It doesn't mean anything-- 

[they stop and glare briefly (but curiously) at each other, then look   
determinedly away] 

**Eol**:   
Some sort of Ainur trick, that's all. 

[she nods shortly; they sit down on the steps, at a distance from the rest   
but on the same side, though at arm's length from each other. After a moment   
the Noldor princess gives her husband a sidelong Look.] 

**Aredhel**: [amused]   
So . . . that's what you really want-- 

**Eol**: [interrupting, through clenched teeth]   
--Shut up. 

[by now it might have been noticed by viewers that neither of the couple is   
armed, and Eol though still dressed in all black, is no longer wearing his   
armour beneath his cloak. The Sea-elf leans over and whispers to her former   
colleague:] 

**Teler Maid**: [impressed]   
How knew you, that 'twould surpass the setting of false fire about her   
blade for diversion and mirth, to let her gain the Lady's notice? 

**Captain**:   
Just insight, lass, just plain old tercen. And deduction. 

[shaking his head] 

She'd not be warned by me. And Master Smith has trouble discerning his   
own best interests, no less. They were bound to fall foul of her soon enough. 

**Luthien**:   
So, anyway, we discussed several possible approaches to dealing with Enemy   
minions, and Huan definitely didn't think my idea of trying to sneak in and   
get work working as another slave in the kitchens or something would work,   
but then I wasn't sure if his idea of pretending to be sick or injured out   
in the woods beside the river bank away from the bridge and me going and   
pretending to betray him to Sauron out of revenge for him capturing me and   
giving me over to the Kinslayers would work. After all, the Terrible One   
might just keep me there and send a minion out to look for him -- though   
I was willing to try -- and then we came up with the idea of me luring him   
out, and Huan jumping on him from behind when he came to try to capture me. 

[through this narration Finrod and his relations, most particularly Nerdanel,   
are giving her extremely and increasingly strange Looks] 

**Finrod**:   
--We? 

[he is giving her a baffled smile, which only succeeds in spreading the confusion] 

**Luthien**:   
? ? ? 

**Finrod**:   
You, and Huan . . . ? 

**Luthien**: [frowning]   
There wasn't anyone else there -- Celebrimbor had already gone away and   
didn't come back. 

**Finrod**:   
. . . 

[the Steward leans back, looking faintly amused] 

**Steward**:   
The answer, my lord, is "yes." 

**Finrod**: [still looking confused]   
But when did you learn to speak with kelvar, cousin? Or is that something   
you've always been able to do, like understanding trees, and never   
mentioned ere now? 

**Luthien**: [worried]   
I'm sorry, I don't understand what you're asking, Finrod. 

**Finrod**: [flatly]   
You and Huan were discussing things. 

[she nods] 

**Third Guard**: [earnest]   
The Hound does talk, Sire. 

[as the High Kings, living and dead, and the other Eldar, lawful or otherwise,   
stare at him] 

Beren said so. 

[biting his lip, Finrod looks at Huan, then at Luthien, still not knowing quite   
what to say. The Lord Warden shakes his head with a look of annoyance and scorn] 

**Aglon**: [intending to be heard]   
Dogs aren't quendi, you fools. 

[overlapping] 

**Amarie**:   
What, dost claim yon gangling rebel hound be more and greater nor any whelp   
other of Lord Orome's breeding? 

[she and the Warden glare at each other, momentarily, both furious at having   
shared an opinion in public, and ostentatiously look away from each other; Huan   
whines sadly] 

**Luthien**: [shrugging]   
I don't know. I don't know if he's any different from the rest of Tavros'   
pack. All I know is, he's the best dog I've ever had or heard of. 

[distantly] 

And a better friend I've never had, either. 

[the Ambassador turns his head away, hiding a stricken expression behind his hand] 

**Angrod**: [not quite aside either]   
We always did say he understood every word we said . . . 

**Finrod**:   
Are you-- 

[closes his eyes, starts over again. Carefully:] 

Has anyone besides yourself heard him? 

**Luthien**: [straightfaced]   
Well, -- Beren. 

[pause] 

And my father. And Mablung. And Beleg. And a whole lot of other people who   
were there when he died. 

[stroking the Hound's ears gently as she finishes] 

**Finrod**: [blankly]   
All right. 

[leaning back to look at the Captain] 

You weren't making a joke about it, then, earlier. 

**Captain**:   
No, Sir. 

**Nerdanel**: [resigned, though her brothers-in-law still look dubious, as do others]   
Nay, I do confess me much astonisht withal -- yet truly, ever did we say   
him wise, clever, and cunning in wit nigh as any Elf, about the House,   
in lost Day. 

**Huan**: [grinning]   
[happy tail thumps] 

**Warrior**:   
Ow! --Huan!! 

**Aredhel**: [very aside]   
What utter rot. 

**Eol**: [just as obviously not intended to be heard by Luthien]   
Obviously. I told you my royal family were mad. 

**Apprentice**: [generally, smug]   
Oh, there'll be far stranger things than a talking dog before this   
is over--! 

**Finrod**: [struggling to not be incredulous]   
So . . . 

[he covers by reaching over to scratch Huan's nose, but is plainly rattled] 

. . . ah, you came up with a plan to draw Sauron out and trap him,   
between the two of you. I mean, between the two of you, you came up   
with a plan . . . 

**Luthien**:   
It works the other way, too. 

**Finrod**:   
It . . . sounds very . . . simple. 

[aside, aghast] 

--And completely insane--!! 

**Luthien**: [crossly]   
Well, I challenge you to come up with a better one on short notice-- 

[breaking off] 

Oh -- no, I -- I didn't mean to say that, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-- 

[she clutches her temples, grimacing, (fortunately at this point nothing she can   
do one way or the other can make her hair any worse) while Finrod shakes his head,   
trying to reassure her -- but not able to get through until Luthien experiences   
again for herself the dampening consequences of being distraught around a large   
friendly canid, as Huan takes advantage of proximity to snuffle in her ear and   
under her chin] 

**Finrod**: [rubbing her shoulder]   
Shh -- I understand. 

[Luthien pulls herself together, not entirely over her attack of remorse] 

It's still insane. 

[as she gives him a wary Look] 

--What did Beren say about it, I wonder? 

[she glares at the ceiling arches] 

That's what I thought. So -- I gather you rode Huan, then, like a horse? 

[the Lord of Dogs wags his tail again before remembering that there are other   
people about] 

Well, there isn't-- 

[checks -- wryly, glancing over at the Apprentice] 

--wasn't -- a faster mount in my stables, so that part at least was   
sane, in my judgment. And he'd be better than any warsteed for dealing   
with any enemy patrols you might have run into. 

**Huan**:   
[melancholy whine] 

**Luthien**: [concerned]   
Are you going to be all right with me telling this? 

[her cousin nods, smiling just a little; she looks around at the rest of his   
relatives, and continues rather acerbically] 

Just to warn all of you, I'm not -- and I'm probably going to start crying   
again at some point. 

[to Finrod, anxious again] 

--Are you sure? 

[he nods again, not looking away from her] 

**Finrod**:   
It's over for us. 

**Teler Maid**: [very abruptly]   
I do not wish to hear this part again. 

[she gets up and goes to the Falls, a little way from where the Youngest Ranger   
is lying down, and kneels down to watch the water too.] 

**Elenwe**: [considering Finrod's kinfolk with a piercing Look]   
Not for self alone doth the child speak, I deem. 

**Finarfin**:   
Thou seest overmuch, good my niece. Yet tales there be, that rehearsal   
doth not lighten, nor the passing time dull their most hurtsome edge   
upon the heart. 

**Luthien**: [very quietly]   
I'm sorry, my lord -- but what happens after doesn't make much sense, if   
I leave this out. 

**Finarfin**: [resolutely]   
Nay, say on: aught that hath been shall ne'er be made naught, by ceasing   
to speak thereof. 

[Finrod steals a concerned glance at his father -- it is only now beginning to   
sink in for him what the other Elf is going through. He does not however notice   
Amarie's frozen expression; Nerdanel holds out a hand to her, but the Vanyar   
lady either does not or chooses not to notice, keeping hers firmly folded on   
her knee as though posing for her portrait. The camera cuts over to the waterfall:   
by the spill pool, the Sea-elf has already gotten bored of silence and tosses   
something accurately at the unsuspecting Sindarin warrior. He startles, reaching   
up to snag it out of the air and sitting bolt upright in one quick motion, then   
looks bemusedly at the bracelet he has caught for himself.] 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Rains jewelry here, eh? 

**Teler Maid**:   
Sorry--! 

[she does not sound particularly contrite, though -- he smiles at her, and   
she giggles] 

**Youngest Ranger**: [straight-faced]   
What are these? 

**Teler Maid**:   
Those are pearls, which come of oysters, which are akin to snails, though   
they do not look it. One finds them underwater. 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Are you sure? They look like polished white glass to me. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Of course I am sure! I brought them up myself, and we had them for supper.   
The oysters, I mean. When I was alive of course. The ones I am dreaming of. 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
How do beads come from snails? 

[pause] 

**Teler Maid**:   
I am not quite sure. 

**Youngest Ranger**: [still deadpan]   
Are you sure you're not making fun of me? 

**Teler Maid**:   
Yes. No, I am not, I mean. 

[checks] 

Oh, but you are making sport of me! For you are known of Lord Cirdan, and   
the havens of the Land of Morning! 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Not I, I'm afraid. I lived my life inland, always -- I was never stationed   
on the Coast. 

[she makes an exasperated noise, tossing her head] 

**Teler Maid**:   
If not you, then all of you -- and indeed you must know something of them,   
for there are pearls on the very image of your cloak-pin there! 

[sniffing] 

Do you also know the way of it that pearls are fashioned, then? 

[he shakes his head] 

I must ask my Lady someday, that is all. 

[when he goes to give her back the bracelet she makes a "keep it" gesture, and   
looks at him thoughtfully with her head on one side.] 

Are you afraid of Lady Uinen? 

**Youngest Ranger**: [at a loss]   
I --'ve not had the honor -- never been introduced-- 

**Teler Maid**: [probing]   
But would you, if you were to chance to meet her? 

[he starts knotting the pearls into the end of his braid] 

**Youngest Ranger**: [very busily not looking at her]   
Probably. 

**Teler Maid**:   
But you are are a warrior, you have fought demons and do not fear to wield   
weapons! And you are clever, you even know how to call things out of rocks! 

[she waves towards the Falls] 

**Youngest Ranger**: [dismissive]   
I learned that from the King. I don't understand what I'm doing enough to   
teach anyone else, and I think that's part of doing anything properly. And   
I grew up always knowing that there were creatures of the Enemy out there,   
and that people I knew had fought them, and might have to again. I didn't   
grow up knowing the gods as neighbors. 

**Teler Maid**: [even more dismissive in turn]   
Yes, but you have met them now, have you not? So why do you yet fear them? 

[pause] 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
I think when you and I look at things, we see them differently. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Of course! Or we should not be different people. 

**Youngest Ranger**: [patient]   
I mean, more differently than most differences. --When I look at the gods,   
it's like standing by the smeltry and watching them cast ingots for the   
forging. That level of raw energy, even if it's completely controlled,   
scares me more than I can tell. I trust the smiths, but I don't like being   
around so much power. I don't think it's the same for you. 

**Teler Maid**:   
You do not like the gods. 

[worried and scolding] 

Are the words of those proud Noldor true, then, though they should not   
mock anyone for Turning, that you do reject the Powers of our land? 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
That wasn't what I said. 

**Teler Maid**:   
But it was in your thought. 

**Youngest Ranger**: [correcting patiently]   
I don't like being around them. It frightens me. 

[pause] 

Though a lot of that was my own fears, about being sent back. Now that   
I know they were right, that no one has to leave before he's ready, the   
idea of the Lord and Lady doesn't make me sick with anxiousness. 

**Teler Maid**: [with a sulky but self-directed humor]   
That, you might indeed have known, did you but consider me -- even were   
you not willing to trust your friends' wisdom! 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
But I didn't know it. Not until I was willing to ask Them and risk the answer. 

**Teler Maid**:   
Are you afraid of Nienna, too? 

**Youngest Ranger**: [surprised tone]   
No! 

**Teler Maid**:   
Why? Or not, as it rather were. 

[pause] 

**Youngest Ranger**:   
Because-- 

[checks] 

--because. 

[she gives him a Look, and he sighs and goes on] 

--Because when She looks at you, you know that nothing you've done,   
nothing that was done to you, nothing you could ever do, and nothing   
you didn't do, could ever make Her look at you in any other way. --Or   
look away from you. How could I be frightened by Love that doesn't   
demand anything of me in return, doesn't judge me, has no conditions,   
and won't ever stop? 

[pause] 

I'm not sure why House Feanor is so afraid of her, myself. 

[the other shade looks away, subdued, and slumps down to lean on the rocks   
and watch the flames on the water for a while] 

**Teler Maid**: [very quietly]   
Because it makes one to wish to become worthy of that love.   


* * *

**SCENE V.xx**

[Elsewhere: the Corollaire] 

**Beren**:   
You're not saying as much, but for some reason it's making more sense   
when you explain these things to me. 

**Yavanna**:   
Of course. My family means well, but sometimes they can be a bit   
overwhelming. And you're mine, so naturally you understand me more   
clearly. 

**Beren**: [gesturing widely at the distant eastern horizon]   
The thing I still don't understand is how anything good can come out of   
what Morgoth does. It would be nice to think that in spite of himself he   
ends up doing some good, even if it doesn't make up for the rest, but I   
don't see how that's possible, 'cause all he does is destroy stuff and   
hurt people. 

**Yavanna**:   
The best way I can explain is to tell you a story. --And yes, it's real. 

[he grins, abashed] 

Once there were creatures in Middle-earth like pigs, but different. And   
the King's greedy brother stole them from the Lady who owned them, while   
they were foraging on the plains for food, because he said they were on   
his property. And he turned them into monsters, and made them bigger,   
and gave them round flat feet, and made their tushes as long as spears,   
and sent them back to trample on her gardens and dig up the roots of them   
and knock over the trees she had planted there. 

[pause] 

**Beren**:   
How did he do that? 

**Yavanna**: [sadly]   
I'm afraid I can't tell you. 

**Beren**: [nodding]   
Mysteries of the gods. I understand. 

**Yavanna**:   
No, you don't. That's the trouble. I would if I knew how, but it's so   
different from anything in your life, from your perspective, that I don't   
think it will make any sense. 

**Beren**:   
Oh. 

[pause] 

Can you try? 

**Yavanna**: [slight frown]   
Yes, but I don't know that I'll be able to succeed. --Do the words   
"transposable element-induced mutations" convey anything to you? 

[pause] 

**Beren**:   
Nope. 

**Yavanna**:   
That's what I was afraid of. 

[pause -- slowly] 

You know about breeding ungulates, right? How you can change the herd   
by coupling the hardiest, or select for more milk, or heavier coats,   
or smaller horns, or calmer temper? 

**Beren**:   
Like cows and sheep and goats, right? Are they like -- ungulants? Because   
I don't think we have them back home. Since obviously you're not talking   
about spiders. 

**Yavanna**:   
Yes, you do -- that's what they are, all of them. And others as well. It   
means the ones with hooves, not paws. 

**Beren**: [embarrassed]   
Oh. 

**Yavanna**: [tossing her head, dismissive]   
Silly word, really. I know what they are, and they know what they are,   
but it means so much to the Eldar to be able to organize them with names.   
Anyhow, Melkor did something like that to them, only because he's a god   
he can do it far more effectively and in ways that would never occur to   
most people to think of -- thankfully! -- but it takes a very long time,   
even for us, to change things, and while he was so pleased with himself   
for making creatures that could destroy my trees, he completely missed   
something else that was happening at the same time. 

[she smiles, rather scarily -- her tone is triumphant] 

They became wise. They live in tribes, of a sort, now, and they have lore   
of a fashion, and they teach their young to mind the old ways, and the   
oldest females are always their leaders. And they do knock down and eat   
trees, but they also make it possible for many other creatures to live,   
on them and around them and because of them. So -- those ones are still   
mine, even though he tried to take them away from me. 

**Beren**:   
You did that? You -- can do that? 

**Yavanna**:   
Of course. But not the same way. Not as you're thinking of it, like that   
game your friends are so mad for, the one with little bits of stone -- as   
though Melkor moved one, and then I moved another to counter him. And it   
isn't just me, either. It's all of us. Nia and dear Este and Tav', and my   
kinswomen, Vana and Nessa and little Melian, and my husband, and Irmo and   
your friends Tulkas and the one you've never met, but know as well as me,   
Ulmo, and his people, and Vaire, Namo and Manwe and Varda, and all of us,   
everywhere, the ones you know of and the ones no Elf or Man has ever   
guessed at. 

[pause] 

--Huan, too. 

**Beren**:   
You mean the Song. 

**Yavanna**: [nodding]   
It pours out across the emptiness, and he tries to block it, and he can't   
-- all he can do is hold it for a little, or change it from what it was   
trying to be, but it's like trying to stop a river -- only instead of a   
river, it's the whole ocean. 

[he is frowning] 

Have I made things hopelessly confusing? 

**Beren**: [quick headshake]   
No -- not really. What -- When you said "trees," you weren't thinking   
about orchards or hawthornes or junipers, were you? Small trees? 

[she shakes her head in turn] 

That's . . . what I was afraid of. --What kind of trees? 

**Yavanna**:   
I don't know what names have been given to them -- but they're probably   
most like oaks, of all the ones you're familiar with, though the roots   
are different. But they look somewhat like a particularly thick-boled   
and gnarled oak tree. 

**Beren**: [hopefully]   
But -- not that tall, right? 

**Yavanna**:   
Oh yes. Easily. 

[pause] 

**Beren**: [apprehensive]   
How? 

**Yavanna**:   
With their foreheads. 

[longer pause] 

**Beren**:   
How big are they? 

[the Earthqueen shrugs] 

**Yavanna**:   
Very. 

[wide-eyed, he doesn't answer, except with a quick shiver, and an appalled   
smile -- she looks at him curiously] 

What are you thinking? 

[for some reason this embarrasses him] 

**Beren**: [flustered]   
Oh. I -- I was -- and this is just, um, hypothetical, even if it wasn't   
anyway already, because I don't want to, you understand -- but -- I was   
wondering how you'd go about taking one. Sorry. 

**Yavanna**: [not offended in the least]   
But of course. You're his also. You could hardly help but wonder about it. 

**Beren**: [frowning still more]   
--Mostly about what you'd do with it after. A whole village could hardly   
eat an animal big enough to plough over an oak tree like it was a shrub!   
And you couldn't make it into hams, either, not easily. I'm just croggled   
thinking about the technical problems of skinning something as big as a   
cottage. And what would you do with the bones? Make houses out of 'em? 

[she looks pensive for a moment] 

**Yavanna**:   
Ye--es, I believe they do. 

[pause] 

**Beren**:   
You mean -- somebody has? 

**Yavanna**: [sad]   
Your people are very stubborn. And ingenious. 

**Beren**:   
How? 

**Yavanna**: [raising her hands]   
Hunting is not my Art. I gather it's quite dangerous, however it's done,   
and often the price is the hunter's life, so it isn't frequent -- a dire   
emergency, when the certainty of famine makes the likelihood of sacrificing   
a leader worthwhile. --Which is a fair bargain. 

[pause] 

**Beren**: [wide-eyed]   
Okay, what I really want to know is, where do they live, and is it any   
way near Beleriand, or could they get there? Because this is really scary,   
even if it doesn't affect me directly. 

[she shakes her head, amused] 

**Yavanna**:   
They only thrive where it's hot all year round -- that's where they were   
made for, since things grow there without a break. It's very far from   
where you lived -- beyond several Barriers, and a long ways south besides.   
And it's very unlikely that they would ever cross a Barrier -- they're not   
designed for climbing, but crushing, and they haven't much interest in   
traveling out of their own lands. --Another thing he failed to notice until   
it was too late. 

[the Earthqueen sounds very smug -- Beren gives a relieved sigh.] 

**Beren**:   
That's good to hear. I guess if it were different they could've used   
them to knock down the Nightshade instead of trying to burn me out. 

[wistful] 

You know, I'd still kind of like to see one. From a safe distance. 

[frowning] 

I wonder if you could domesticate them . . . and what you'd do with them   
if you did, and how you'd feed them. 

[looking at her wryly] 

Now I'm trying to think how big of a barn you'd need to put them in.   


* * *

  
_To be continued…_


End file.
